


The Snake In The Grass

by ServantOfMischief



Series: The Journey To Home [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: But mostly fluff, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Happy Ending, Healer Aziraphale, Journey, M/M, More tags will most likely be added, Multi, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Slight Smut, Snake Crowley, but only a little bit of angst, i guess, shapeshifter AU, there will be mroe than just a little bit of angst, who am I kidding, yeah happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2020-12-23 16:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21084329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ServantOfMischief/pseuds/ServantOfMischief
Summary: Shapeshifters aren't so popular now-a-days. Humans, for some reason they do not want to explain, do not like the poor creatures. So Crowley parades around as a snake, and hopes for the best.I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!





	1. The Snake In The Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!

There is a village, near a mountain region, or rather it is in a mountain region, by the foot of a great mountain, that is a supposedly the neighbour of a giant monster-snake. Now, it’s mostly just a rumour because the villagers never seek out any aid to be rid of the creature, and any village which is so close to a monster would ask for aid in getting rid of said creature, yes? And the ones spreading the rumours are mostly bandits, and how trustworthy are they? Liars, thieves, rapists and killers, what good is their word? So if there truly is a monster snake in the mountain region, then it truly is left well enough alone. 

Or, well, mostly alone. 

“Adam!” It’s more of an annoyed, loud hiss, than a yell, as a scaly tail wraps around a young child dangling off a rather frail branch high off of the ground. The boy laughs loudly as he’s bring brought back down to safety, running his hands over the warm scales wrapped around him. Black as the darkest night, though there is some red in there somewhere too. 

“I’ve told you, don’t climb too high.” He stares up into the yellow eyes of a giant snake, grinning at the look in the creature’s eyes which can somehow be translated as the creature being quite annoyed with the boy. 

“But you’ll always bring me down safely, snake-man!” The boy yells and the creature hisses in what is clear annoyance, tongue swiping the air in front of it as it leans closer, pupils thinning. 

“Sssssshould jusssst let you fall and hit your head, would sssssserve you right.” The snake says, coiling tighter around the boy in warning, before letting him go. The boy returns to his group of friends, who all whisper together loudly, yet not loud enough that the snake can hear every word they utter. The snake, if it had eyelids, would have narrowed its eyes at them in suspicion. They are plotting something, at it will most likely end in another headache for the snake. Before they can act out on whatever it is they are planning, a voice calls out. 

“Adam! It’s time for dinner!” The children slouch their backs, and the snake nearly sighs in relief when Adam’s father, Arthur, comes up the path, carrying a sack. 

“But dad!” Adam whines, loud and voice so light in pitch the snake almost winces. Arthur though, levels the children with a stern look and they give up, trotting down the path to their village. 

“They weren’t too much trouble, I hope?” The man asks as he deposits the sack in front of the snake. 

“No more than usssual.” The snake answers, and the man chuckles, although nervously. He may not be afraid of the snake, as it has never once been a threat to them, but it is still a rather curious and scary thing to stand before a giant of a serpent. Even if it has been docile towards the village for as long as it has resided in the mountain. 

“Ah, well, children you know.” He says, wiping his hands over his shirt. 

“Indeed. I’m usssed to it.” It makes the days go by faster for the snake, that much is true. And it’s nice with company every now and then, even if it complains about being bothered by the children. It’s all just for show, really. It enjoys playing, it enjoys the company, it enjoys not being alone. And the children come up with the most amazing games and stories. 

“Right.” Arthur says. “I’d best get back too. Off I go, Master Snake.” 

“Off you go.” The snake says quietly, watching the human disappear after the children, before it bites into the sack and brings it back to its cave. There, the giant beast coils together, before slowly changing, tail splitting and forming two long legs, an upper body emerging from the scales, and its head growing bigger and the scales melting away. A tall, lanky redhaired man stands in the abode, the sack in his hands. 

“It’s Crowley.” He whispers to himself, sighing. A hundred years he’s been here, but no one uses his name even when he tells them upon meeting for the very first time. In an attempt at not forgetting his name, Crowley has taken to remind himself at least once a day. It’s not the same as having someone else use it, but it’ll probably be the only instances his name will be used as long as he stays here, playing the monster snake of the mountain. Humans don’t like shapeshifters much these days. Bad omens, they say now. Best to get rid of them all. Crowley has exactly one sibling left of his litter, and she is half a world away, according to her recent letters, their recent dreams. He misses her. She’s better at socializing with humans than him, and Crowley wishes he was like her in that regard. 

Maybe then he would feel safer about going around, being human. Living hundreds of years and not trusting himself to blend in is truly pathetic. 

Still, it’s not so bad here. The villagers believe him to a be a non-hostile monster snake as long as they’re not hostile towards him, and they bring him food and supplies once a week. It’s not so bad. It could be much worse. He could be actively hunted, instead of living rather peacefully here in his mountain. He eats the meal Arthur has brought him, and Crowley admits that he enjoys the humans cooking. A hundred years, and Crowley have never felt so lonely in his life. Children come and play, sure, and the humans bring him food and exchange a few pleasantries, but there’s no more than that. No one’s close, no one is his friend. 

But one does what one has to, to survive. And Crowley likes living. Big fan of living, him. 

And besides, this is a poor mountain village. Or, it was poor back when he first settled down a hundred years ago, what with all the raids happening back then. There aren’t so many anymore, and that’s probably because of Crowley appearing so vicious and terrifying to any raiders. Speaking of which, there’s been some time since the last time there were any attacks. Another one will probably happen soon, they always do. But Crowley prides himself on being able to sniff them out rather early, so the man finds his furs and collapses onto them. 

Playing with the humans offspring takes more out of him than fighting ever has. At least bandits and thieves are predictable, children, not so much. They can run off in all kinds of directions without a moments notice. 

Crowley sleeps well that night, the hot summer air keeping his cold-blooded body warm. A few more days pass, everything is quiet and peaceful, and Crowley is lounging in the sun in his snake form, soaking in the warm rays. That’s when he feels it, the faint trembling in the ground.. He lifts his head lazily, before he slithers quickly down the path with a hiss. The closer he gets to the village, the louder the sound of thundering hooves grows.

The oncoming enemies force their way into the village, shouting, sneering, laughing and waving their swords and causing a ruckus, waiting to see the villagers panic and run, though they quite quickly realize that the villagers are just looking at them dumbly. Arthur Young approaches them, his pipe in his hand, and the bandits find it a bit peculiar that he doesn’t look at all afraid. 

“Might I inquire why you gentlemen have come here?” With just one look at the group one can see that they are as far from gentlemen as they ever can be, but Arthur is unfailingly polite. 

“Your riches and your women.” One of the bandits command, a smirk on his face as he tries to make stock of the situation. 

“Ah, a group of bandits.” Arthur says to himself, as if it isn’t clear enough just by looking at them. “Well, riches we don’t have, so that is a bust. As for our women, that is a hard no from all of us. I suggest you leave, soon as you can.” There’s a series of agreeable murmurs in the crowd behind him, and the bandits scowl. 

“You’re a real jester, old man.” 

“Old?” Arthur looks positively offended as his face twists a bit. 

“But you don’t get a say. We’re not leaving empty-handed!” The bandits shout. 

“Stupid bandit!” Adam yells from where he is standing with his group of friends. “Snake-man will chase you away!” 

“Snake-man?” 

“There’s a rumour.” The one who appears to be the bandit chief speaks up. “Of a giant snake lurking in the mountains. It ain’t real, it’s just a rumour to scare people away. Monster snakes aren’t real.” 

“Aren’t I?” 

The group turns around, and pales at the sight of the serpent huge enough to swallow their horses whole.


	2. The Travelling Healer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will update this story once a week now (every Friday), since school has started to become really hectic and I need to focus on my schoolwork. Thanks for your patience!

Scaring the bandits off is easy enough, Crowley just has to open his jaws wide and the horses bolt at the loud hiss he releases, their instincts telling them to flee from the huge animal, the predator. Everything is pure chaos after that.. The men shout, scream and wave their swords wildly and the shapeshifter hardens his scales so the swords recoil by the bandits’ own strength, leaving him unharmed and their arms trembling terribly, almost painfully, with aftershocks, making it hard for them to keep their hold on their weapons. Crowley doesn’t have any intention of actually killing any of them, but he must make a point, to get the message across so that the bandits knows not to come back. Ever.

The message being: Get the fuck out.

So he snaps after them, manages to snag one of them by the straps of their shoddy armour and tosses him high in the air. The man screams as he sails through the air, dropping down and landing harshly on the ground, a terrible sound coming from his arm when he lands. Another is thrown off of his horse, and is then snatched up by Crowley’s tail, held high above the snake’s head as he opens his jaws wide again, threatening to drop him into the gaping jaw, threatening to make him today’s dinner. The man screams, flailing wildly, and Crowley lets him dangle for a few moments before he tosses him at his comrades. They fall to the ground in a rather undignified heap before scrambling up on their feet again.

The bandits sound a quick retreat, especially after Crowley snaps after them. The group is gone as quick as they came, and the moment everyone is sure they are all gone for good, there’s a round of applause from the villagers. The children cheer loudly, already excitedly discussing how they have to replay this scenario in their next game, and who is going to be who, and how the snake really has to play with them when they have fleshed out the game right.

“Splendid, Master Snake. Thank you for the timely rescue!” Arthur calls out as he claps, turning his head to look at his fellow villagers to get their approving nods.

“’s nothing.” Crowley hisses in pain before moving over to the human. “Mind pulling this out?” He lowers himself enough to show the man an arrow embedded between the scales. There’s a gasp all around, and Arthur looks a bit queasy as he grabs the shaft of the arrow, and pulls it out carefully, making sure there’s not a single piece of it left within the snake’s body. No one alive in the village today can remember a day where the snake got hurt, this is completely unprecedented.

“Thankssss.” He hisses before he begins to slither away.

“Oh, um, you don’t need any help, tending to that?” Arthur calls out after him, already looking around for the village doctor, but the snake cuts him off. 

“No, I’ll be fine.” Crowley calls out. It’s going to be a hassle, but this is hardly the first arrow he’s got stuck in his body. It is a surprise though, but Crowley must have lowered his guard too early, softened his scales too quickly. He thought he had learned long ago not to do that, but a hundred almost peaceful years here must have softened him. He snorts at the thought. He is far from soft, no matter what anyone says, but he can admit to admitting victory too quickly. And after that heroic act, the shapeshifter believes he’s owed a long nap, so once he is back in his cave, he reverts to his human shape, binds his wound, and falls into his furs. Despite the discomfort and throbbing in his shoulder, he falls asleep quite quickly.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long. He wakes up, only a few hours before dawn, finding it hard to breathe, an unpleasant heat all over his body, a burning from the wound, and Crowley snarls to himself.

_‘Poison._’ The arrow had been poisoned. Crowley is no healer. He can shift into a snake, and he can conjure fire. He had, once upon a time, been a vicious fire-snake, but healing s a skill he is terrible at. And in this fever haze, it’s not like he is any more capable at it. He knows a few spells, old spells, but he’s terrible at them.

“Fuck!” He is somewhat resistant to most poisons, but this will surely draw out the healing process. Crowley just hopes no one from the village comes by while he’s down for the count. A hundred years of peace is not about to be bloody ruined by one fucking poisoned arrow from a shoddy bandit crew. He’ll be damned before he lets that happen. This lonely little life he’s built for himself here, it is safe, as safe as can be, and he will not be chased off.

The shapeshifter is lucky with the humans keeping their children in the village in the days he does not show himself to them. No matter how long the snake’s been their guardian, no one is about to go near the den of a wounded animal, and certainly not send their children to play with said wounded animal. Yet they are indeed worried, when several days pass by and they hear nothing from the creature. The villagers gather in the town square to discuss what to do, just as a lone traveller enters the square. The man listens in, catching the words; hurt, been days since the last visit, arrow-wound perhaps greater than what they had thought, and so on. It is quite clear to the traveller that something is wrong with someone the people here care a lot about, so he interrupts.

“Um, excuse me!” The traveller calls out, and everyone turns to look at him. “Yes, right. I’m a healer, as in, I specialize in healing magics. If someone is wounded, I might be able to help.” There’s another murmur as the villagers talk between themselves. They shoot the man a look that tells him they are worried, but not quite sure if they can trust him. Yet they also seem very desperate. It must be someone really important then, the traveller thinks, and comes up with an alternative.

“Or you can explain to me what kind of wound it is, and maybe I can help you by telling you how to treat it? If that makes you more comfortable?” This seems to ease their worries a little bit, until a group of children push through the crowd, looking near tears, and cries out before anyone reaching out for them can stop them.

“It’s the snake! The snake is hurt!” The traveller blinks, confused.

“The snake?” It takes a few seconds before he looks up at the adults again. “The snake is real? The giant serpent in the mountain is real? It’s not just a rumour?”

“No.” Arthur moves forward, giving the children a stern look. He did not want any strangers to know that their guardian is hurt, and unable to come to their aid until it is healed again, but what is said is said. “We recently suffered a bandit attack, and Master Snake was hurt as it scared them off. We haven’t seen it since.”

“Oh!” The traveller gasps.

“What’s your name, traveller?”

“Aziraphale, good sir.”

“If we bring you to Master Snake’s den, will you heal it?”

“Well, I, er, I offered, didn’t I?” Aziraphale stammers, before straightening up in front of the man. “I had indeed thought it was a person, but my offer still stands.” Arthur stares for many moments, seizing Aziraphale up, before nodding. The man is broad-shouldered though the rest of him looks rather soft, the blue eyes are so exceptionally honest, and he does appear to be a rather respectable man, so Arthur decides to have a try, at the very least.

“Right then. I’ll lead you to its home. You can do the rest then.”

Aziraphale admits to himself, as they walk up a steep mountain path, that he is worried that he is being led like a lamb to slaughter. It would hardly be the first time. He remembers a time, when he was much younger and naïve… No, best not to dwell on that now, all he got out of that is that he walks with a sword now when he travels. They reach the top, and Aziraphale is in awe at the greenery he sees here. Large apple trees the blonde is sure shouldn’t be able to grow so high up, the soft green grass, berry bushes and several types of herbs growing bountifully, not to mention all the colorful flowers, it is quite amazing. And then there is the dark cave in which is framed by so many green vines it almost looks inviting, and not a door leading to a monster snake’s den.

“Master Snake dwells in there. I can’t follow, because it doesn’t want us in there, and I don’t want to violate it’s privacy any more than I already am by sending you in there.” Arthur says, before hesitating.

“Should you be in any danger because we asked this of you, turn and run.”

“Pardon?”

“Master Snake has never once harmed any of us, but it is hurt, and it might just be like any other wounded animal. So, if you are in any danger, please run for it and forget we asked any aid of you.” Aziraphale nods before he turns and ventures into the cave. There are plants inside as well, and a tiny waterfall. It’s rather pretty, Aziraphale thinks, as he looks around trying to locate the serpent. He never comes across any giant snake, but he does find a pale redhead, his lithe, shivering form curled up onto a bed of furs, with a rather festered wound on his shoulder.


	3. The Man In The Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley will not let his secret out, he will not!

Crowley isn’t sure whether or not he imagines the cool, refreshing sensation over his forehead and back, or the voice which sounds so far away but is somewhat pulling him closer to whoever it is. It’s a soothing balm against the fire burning all over. His shoulder throbs and burns, and even with his fever-addled mind, he knows he’s in trouble. His body isn’t working the poison out of his system as quickly as it should. He’s actually very much in danger, but he can’t do anything about it. Then, the burning in his shoulder subsides, even if it’s only a little bit, and even if it takes some time, the haze clears. Enough for him to make an attempt at clawing himself back to consciousness. It is a pitiful attempt, but an attempt none-the-less.

Aziraphale has yet to see the serpent the villagers told him about, and for all he knows this man on these furs might be the monster snake’s next meal, what with all the poison running through his body, paralyzing him and all that, but Aziraphale can’t turn his back on someone in need of help. It’s simply not in his nature, as that of a healer. So he extracts some blood, analyses it with his magic, and makes an antidote, before he cleans the wound properly and redresses it, all the while making sure that the man’s body is accepting the broth he makes and the water he draws from the little pond. He’ll heal faster if his body has the energy to fight back against the fever.

It takes days, and as Aziraphale notices with relief that colour is returning to the man’s face, he also ponders over the absence of the serpent. As it never appears, he grows complacent, and leaves his sword by the bedding as he goes about outside to gather fruits and herbs to aid the man. He’s running out of the healing herbs he needs to help the man, but the garden outside has some of what he needs. He wonders who planted the garden, and who cares for it, because none of the villagers come up to tend to it. It cannot be a natural occurrence. He also hopes that whoever tends to it doesn’t mind him taking from it to help the man inside the cave.

Aziraphale doesn’t expect the man to wake up anytime soon, and therefore he sits with his back turned towards his patient as he grinds the herbs to fine powder.

Crowley is made aware of a few things as he slowly regains consciousness. One; he is feeling better, much better than he should, two; there’s the sound of something being ground into dust, which leads him to number three; _Someone is in his cave. _

He turns his head carefully and sees the back of someone he’s never met. It’s not a villager either, Crowley knows the scent of every last one down there. This is an outsider, and Crowley feels a spike of fear rush through him. Even more so when he sees the sword resting close to his furs. The shapeshifter has one advantage though, and that is that the stranger is unaware that he is awake. He can end the danger quickly.

Despite his limbs still feeling heavy, and not quite like they’re his own, he crawls to his feet quietly in a way only centuries as a snake can grant him, and he grabs the sword, raising it. All he has to do, is strike the stranger down and bury him somewhere, and Crowley’s secret will be safe again. He’s done it before, he can do it again. Easy, really, if his body can be a bit cooperative.

But before he can creep closer, the stranger turns around.

“Oh, you’re finally awake!” And the words make absolutely no sense to Crowley.

Aziraphale is surprised to see his patient on his feet already and a bit wary of him holding the blonde’s sword. The man is terrified, that much is clear, but why? The snake isn’t here, hasn’t been here for days-

And then the healer sees the man’s eyes for the very first time, and it all becomes rather clear to him. The reason Aziraphale has not encountered the monster snake is because this man _is_ the snake. Obviously the wounded man can see realization dawn in Aziraphale’s eyes and he makes to lunge forward, only to have his legs buckle under him as his weakened body is unable to follow any command anymore. Aziraphale catches him before he crashes to the ground, and wrestles the sword from his hands, tossing it away.

The man fights to get free, but Aziraphale is quite used to having patients try and wriggle free, either out of stubbornness or pain, and hauls his weakened patient back to the furs, laying him down carefully. The redhead is shaking as Aziraphale gently, but firmly, makes him lie back down, a whimper escaping him. Aziraphale feels like he’s staring down at a frightened young child, scared and alone. The man’s eyes are so wide, and Aziraphale makes an attempt at calming him down.

“I’m not here to harm you.” He says, though it seems to do nothing to calm the man. “The villagers asked me to help you. I’m a healer, I came to help.” Now this catches the man’s attention, and his struggles ceases a little.

“You’re… not a hunter?” The man croaks, voice rough and quiet, like it hasn’t been used in years. Aziraphale should give him some more water, especially now that he has woken up. He sorely needs it.

“Heaven’s no!” Aziraphale says, as the pieces start to fall into place in his mind. “I’m not exactly fighter material. Now, rest, and I’ll have some food prepared for when you wake up.”

“Don’t tell them.” The man rasps, as if it is obvious what it is he is talking about, and Aziraphale nods.

“I won’t tell a soul.” Once the redhead is asleep, though not without a bit of fuss, Aziraphale moves back to the herbs he had been grinding, mind an utter chaos of excited thoughts.

The monster snake of the mountain is a shapeshifter. A real, honest-to-God _shapeshifter_. Aziraphale has heard of them, but he’s believed for years that they are extinct, but no. Here he has a live shifter. No wonder the man had been so scared, he thought Aziraphale was here to kill him. No, Aziraphale isn’t one for killing, he much prefers to be able to help people.

And this shapeshifter has been guarding the village for quite some time, the inhabitants being quite fond of him. Who is Aziraphale to judge this man? He is not evil, certainly. He just has a skill, a skill he had been born with, a gift truly. As far as the healer knows there isn’t much of a biological difference between shapeshifters and humans, other than the fact that they have a much longer lifespan than humans. And more of an affinity for magic, thus the blonde never quite understood the sudden hostility humans carried towards shapeshifters.

“I promised him food.” The healer mutters to himself and begins to prepare some broth again. When the shapeshifter awakens, he is not attempting at charging Aziraphale again, but he is very much still wary of the blonde, and his mind much clearer too. Aziraphale can see it in his eyes.

“Here, this should help you feel a bit better.” Aziraphale says, handing over a bowl to the man. The redhead sniffs it cautiously, before taking a careful sip. Whether or not he actually likes the broth, the healer doesn’t know, for his expression betrays nothing.

“My name is Aziraphale.” The blonde begins, attempting at forging some kind of friendly ground with the redhead. “I was passing through the village when I heard the villagers wonder about how they could help you. They were quite worried, especially the children. Why, one of them threatened me with a terrible prank, should I fail to help you. I think his name was-“

“Adam.” The shapeshifter cuts him off, voice still a quiet rasp.

“You’re right. I feel safe in my assessment that I might soon go back and tell them you’ll make a full recovery.” The shapeshifter hasn’t looked away for a moment since he woke up, and Aziraphale realizes that the man isn’t blinking even once, just like a real snake. The healer wonders, with an endless amount of curiosity swirling in his entire being, if the shapeshifter has always been like this, or if it is an after effect of being a snake for such a long time. Oh there can be so much to learn here.

“May I ask your name?” He asks instead of asking questions about the other man’s biology. Even if he really, really wants to. “I can’t very well call you Master Snake unless that actually _is_ your name. It, er, isn’t, is it?” The man regards him for several moments before answering.

“Crowley.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Crowley.” Aziraphale smiles. Crowley seems no longer scared of him, and much more awake than he had been earlier, stronger too, incredibly enough. He is not any closer to showing even an iota of trust though. And that is understandable, given human history the last few centuries.

“May I take a look at the wound once you’re done eating?” Crowley narrows his serpentine eyes at Aziraphale and the blonde plasters on a friendly smile. “I swear I won’t hurt you. What good would that do, considering I’ve done my best to heal you?”

“How would I know how humans think?” Crowley growls and Aziraphale falters. The shapeshifter might have lived close with humans for some time, but by no means does he appear to think he properly understands them. This makes Aziraphale wonder if the actually feels truly safe, even in his own cave.

“Can you, er, undo the wrapping yourself then? And I can look from here?” The shapeshifter stares for several seconds, before finishing the bowl and moving to sit sideways, enough to be able to see every move Aziraphale makes, before motioning for the healer to come closer. It seems he has decided it will be easier for all parts if he just lets the healer do his job.

“Don’t try anything.” Crowley hisses, and Aziraphale nods as he cautiously moves closer to his patient.

“I would never.” He assures the other man, and carefully peels the wrappings away, eyes rowing over the wound. It is healing rather well, closing up rather nicely and quickly, and the festering, rotting tissue he had seen the first day is all but gone. Well, he cut away most of it, but never got to all of it. It seems like the healthy tissue has gotten rid of it all on it’s own though. Curious.

“It seems to be healing well.” He tells the other man happily, applying ointment before rewrapping it. “It’ll leave a small scar, though.”

“Got plenty of those.” Crowley mutters and it’s true, Aziraphale knows. As he’s been treating the man, he’s come across many old scars on his upper body. Old, deep, they must have been painful.

“In just a few days it should be closed, and we can forgo the wrappings. But you must keep yourself from exerting yourself, so you don’t reopen the wound.” Crowley makes a small, conflicting sound, sounding like he’s not willing to agree with him, yet knowing he is probably right. Aziraphale wonders if he’s going to be the kind of patient who insist they’ll be fine, and then make things ten times worse for themselves out of stubbornness or pride.

“Shapeshifters heal quicker than humans.” The man says quietly. Ah, so pride it is, then, but his words sparks Aziraphale’s curiosity, because whenever there is something to learn, Aziraphale is quick on the uptake.

“You do? How much quicker?” Aziraphale asks, excited, and the shapeshifter pulls away slightly, suddenly very wary of the blonde again. Aziraphale fears he might have overstepped.

“I don’t know, quicker.” He mumbles as the healer finishes wrapping his wounds. Aziraphale pushes a bit more.

“Will you transforming into a snake cause strain on your body?” Crowley pulls away completely now, narrowing his eyes at Aziraphale as he turns around, and the healer thinks that he is facing a beast about to either lunge at him, or bolt. Aziraphale hopes he’ll do neither.

“Shouldn’t.” Crowley regards him suspiciously.

“Good. Once you’ve regained some of your strength, perhaps you can change back into a snake and we’ll head down to the village? It will do you good to stretch your, er, tail.” Crowley stares at him, his jaw nearly dropping at the suggestion he had not at all expected the blonde to make.


	4. The Children By The Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them are bored, it never ends well

Adam, Pepper, Brian and Wensleydale are playing on the outskirts of the village. Well, perhaps playing is too grand of a word for the activity they’re doing, or more like the _lack _of activity. Pepper and Brian are sprawled out on the ground, Wensleydale is staring at the sky and Adam is kicking pebbles around aimlessly. They are all utterly bored out of their minds, as their usual playmate has been well and truly hidden away from them for some time, because the big monster snake is hurt. And who knows how much longer he will be gone? Perhaps _forever_.

“What if he can’t help snake-man?” Brian suddenly breaks the silence with some quite dreary words. It’s not something any of the children want to think about. Because it is unnatural that they will never see the snake again.

“He has to.” Adam says quietly. “He knows magic, after all.” It is a rather flat argument, even for children their age, and Wensleydale, of course, points that out.

“Actually, that doesn’t mean he _can_ help snake-man. It just means he can do magic.” Wensleydale pipes up and Pepper turns her head to glare at him.

“Shut up, Wensleydale! Snake-man has been here our whole lives! He _has_ to get better.” Adam wants to agree with Pepper, but deep down he is worried. Because the healer had left _days _ago, and there’s been no news at all. He wants to climb the path and play in the snake’s garden, he wants to climb the trees and be pulled down to safety by the snake. He wants to play with their guardian. But he’s not allowed to. All the adults has said to keep away until the healer gives word. His own father had said something about _privacy._

“Actually, what’s that?” Wensleydale speaks up again, and everyone looks in the direction he’s pointing, and on their way down the hill, the children see the healer and snake descending.

“Ah!” They yell loudly, excitedly, and so they also gain the attention of everyone close enough to hear. By the time the two have descended the path, what looks to be the entire village has gathered. Crowley is surprised by the gathering, that much is obvious, but the serpent answers as many questions as he can.

“Let us ride you, snake-man!” The Them call out, jumping up and down, excited to have their playmate back. “Let us play!”

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale intervenes. “Crowley is not in perfect health yet. Once he’s fully healed, then he can play with you.”

“You can’t decide that!” The children stomp their feet petulantly, and Aziraphale crosses his arms across his chest, looking quite stern.

“Of course I can, I’m his physician! If he hurts himself again, it will take even longer for him to be able to play with you again.” This makes the children think for a bit before they pout and crosses their arms.

“How long until he’s fully healed?” Someone from the crowd asks.

“Oh at this rate, it should only be a few more days.”

“Here!” Another villager pushes through the crow, holding out large leather-sack for Aziraphale to take.

“Food will be needed for a full recovery. Should be enough for the both of you. We hesitated to come up and disturb you, you see. Privacy and all that.”

“Oh that is quite kind of you.”

“Thanksss.” Crowley hisses, before turning and beginning to ascend the path. His movements are sluggish, or they appear so at least, in Aziraphale’s opinion. Not that he’s any expert at how snakes move about. His suspicions are confirmed when they reach the top of the hill, out of sight from the villagers and Crowley nearly collapses as he reverts back to his human shape, just catching himself from sprawling out on the ground.

“Back to your furs, I think.” Aziraphale says as he reaches for the shapeshifter, who hisses at him. The blonde pauses, watching the man take a few deep breaths before pushing himself up to his feet again, marching towards the cave on wobbly legs. Aziraphale follows and watches as the man falls onto his bedding. He’s utterly exhausted and Aziraphale begins to prepare a meal for him. Crowley may have let Aziraphale tend to his wound, but it’s clear that he is still far from trusting him. It’s not surprising, but it still makes Aziraphale feel bad.

That the shapeshifter distrust him is expected, but Aziraphale has done his very best to help. He doesn’t need his effort to be appreciated, nor does he want thanks. He just wants to be acknowledged. The blonde is soon made aware that the shapeshifter hasn’t fallen asleep, like he had originally thought, but is watching his every move with those serpentine eyes.

“Is there something on your mind?” He asks the man. There’s several moments of silence before Crowley speaks up again.

“You called me Crowley.” Aziraphale blinks, confused by the shapeshifter’s words. The man introduced himself as Crowley, it’s only fitting that Aziraphale uses the name, isn’t it? Unless the man enjoys being called Master Snake. A rather odd title, but Aziraphale has heard worse, and seen people enjoy being addressed in ridiculous manners.

“Well, that is your name, yes?” Another round of silence, in which Crowley looks down and seem almost sad, an emotion he has yet to show the healer. Fear, anger and distrust he has shown in waves, but sadness? That is a new one.

“No one calls me by my name.” He mutters and Aziraphale waits for a bit, sensing there is more the shapeshifter wants to say. “Everyone just calls me ‘snake monster’, ‘Master Snake’ or ‘snake-man’.” He doesn’t seem particularly overjoyed about it and Aziraphale watches him. Obviously, the shapeshifter wants to be called by his name, but has long since stopped asking people to do so. He’s stopped believing anyone ever will. And that is rather sad, isn’t it? That people are unable to remember and use a name. People go mad over less.

“Well, all of those are quite the mouthfuls, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just call you Crowley.” The expression of absolute shock on Crowley’s face is amusing, and then it changes into something else, something raw and unreadable and Aziraphale loses his chance to decipher it before the redhead hides his face in the furs. Why he does this, Aziraphale is at a loss for understanding.

“That, er, that is okay, isn’t it?” He asks uncertainly.

“’s fine.” The man mumbles, before turning his back to Aziraphale.

A few days later, true to Aziraphale’s words, the wound on Crowley’s shoulder is fully closed up, and there’s only a small red scar left behind. The children have climbed the hill and as the healer is packing his belongings together, they play with the huge serpent. Aziraphale is quite satisfied with his job, and thinks it’s time to move on and continue his journey. The villagers, however, have other plans. They make him stay for a whole month, food, drink and lodgings all free, as thanks for saving their guardian. The blonde makes exactly one attempt at getting on his way, until he learns that while the village does not have a lot of riches in silver and gold, they do have a rather mighty library.

Aziraphale the healer is weak for libraries and their treasure trove of knowledge. He stays for almost a month, before _it _happens. _It_ is a rather harrowing sight.


	5. The Snake's Wail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Aziraphale has a tendency to ask questions without thinking of the consequenses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update today (08.11.19), just because I want you to squirm a bit extra

Aziraphale leans that the shapeshifter, while in the guise of a snake, is down in the village almost every day. Not to help or do any magic of sorts, but just to be there. The children loves it immensely, and the snake often just _speaks_ to the villagers. Aziraphale picks up on a lot of their chatter if he’s nearby, and once the snake’s been left alone, he approaches him.

“You said you don’t know how humans think.” He begins, recalling Crowley’s initial distrust, which have only waned a little bit these last few days.

“I don’t.” The snake replies.

“But you talk to them every day. How can you not understand?” The snake regards him, before leaning very close, his pupils growing thinner as he hisses.

“Because once humans face something they don’t like or understand, they always go for the option of destroying it. These people all think I’m just a friendly monster snake, but should they ever figure out that I’m a shifter, they’ll turn on me. Doesn’t matter that the fact am I’ve been protecting them for a hundred years, once they know, I will be unwelcome.” Aziraphale doesn’t believe that, but before he can tell the snake so, Crowley slithers away and up the hill. He doesn’t come down the next day, or the day after, and on the third day, Aziraphale climbs the path up to the mountain cave.

He expects that it is his fault the shapeshifter doesn’t come down again, and figures he should apologize for his behaviour. Something he said truly must have upset Crowley. Considering all the marks on the shapeshifter’s body, it’s easy to imagine he has faced great cruelty before finding a home in this region.

When he climbs to the top and finale reaches the garden, he notices that the garden seem more vibrant now than before. The greenery is well, greener, the herbs bigger and the fruits hanging heavy on the branches. Well, that explains it. The shapeshifter is the one tending to the garden.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale jumps startled at the hiss above him, and he sees Crowley’s snake form half-way hidden in one of the apple trees. Despite the hulking mass of the serpent, when it is just his head sticking out of the leaves, he appears so harmless.

“I came to apologize for upsetting you the other day. It was not my intention, and I should have kept my question to myself, as I have no idea what kind of experiences you’ve had.” Crowley regards him silently for several moments, something Aziraphale is starting to grow rather used to by now, before slithering down the tree, and turning back into a human. It is a rather graceful action, the way he transitions so smoothly from one form to another. Truly, it must have taken a lot of practice for it to be so effortless, mustn’t it?

The way his brows are furrowed has the healer believe he is still rather upset about the whole thing still.

“You’re right, you don’t know.” Crowley says quietly, scratching at his throat, though it seems an unconscious gesture as the man’s eyes glaze over a bit. There is a mark there too, and Aziraphale doesn’t want to think about what caused it.

“Pray you never find out.” The words are ominous in their message, but there’s no venom in his voice. Crowley waves a hand out, telling the healer he’s free to stock up on any herb he used on the shapeshifter during his time of need. Aziraphale is confused.

“As thanks, for your assistance.”

“Oh, well, that is very kind of you.” Aziraphale bows his head in thanks, and when he straightens up, he finds Crowley staring at him in an odd way, before glaring at the ground and stalking towards his cave. He hisses viciously at the vines framing the cave-mouth, and they tremble before moving and closing up behind him as he disappears inside. A clear sign that he doesn’t want to be disturbed.

“A shapeshifter with the magic ability to manipulate plants and greenery to such an extent. Interesting.” Aziraphale mutters to himself. Not much is known about shapeshifters, well, not to the public anyway. Before anything could be properly written down, people began hunting supernatural “threats” and said “threats” disappeared. It’s never once been specified what kind of threat shapeshifters are, and for Aziraphale, who’s watched the man interact with the village, seen how worried they were for the shapeshifter’s health, can’t quite bring himself to believe that all shapeshifters are bad. Just as not all humans are good. Aziraphale wants to learn more

And surprisingly enough, he does. Crowley comes down every day again, and he spares some time to speak with the healer. When they finally near the time for Aziraphale to move on as he starts feeling restless, he has formed a tentative friendship with the shapeshifter. There’s the occasional suspicious glare when he asks about shapeshifters, but Crowley has finally begun to ease up. After all, Aziraphale’s questions are never about the shapeshifter’s powers or abilities, but more about the similarities between their biology and humans.

And then it happens, what Aziraphale has learned Crowley fears more than anything. He is revealed to be a shapeshifter in front of everyone, though Aziraphale realizes it is far from being Crowley’s conscious choice to do so.

They’re just talking, surrounded by people in the square, the children are running around, cheering and waving wooden swords, when it happens. Crowley trails off mid-sentence before freezing up. Aziraphale moves to ask the snake what is wrong, when he releases an anguished cry as his great form shudders and collapses onto the ground. The children stop playing, the villagers drop whatever it is they’re doing, and Aziraphale jumps to his feet just as Crowley shifts back into his human form, arms wrapped around himself as he curls up into a ball, soft, heart-wrenching sobs leaving him.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale kneels down and lays a hand on his shoulder, gently trying to turn the shapeshifter over, but Crowley just curls together tighter, whimpering a name over and over again as tears trail down his face. He looks positively ghastly, and so sad and terrified and disbelieving all at once.

“What’s wrong? I thought you fixed him!” Aziraphale hears young Adam demand, and the rush of feet as people move closer.

“I don’t know what caused this! Move back, don’t crowd him!” Aziraphale demands. Crowley is a shivering mess, but anyone can see that this is not caused by a physical ailment.

“You heard the man!” Arthur’s voice suddenly booms, and people scatter quickly. The man kneels down and gives Aziraphale a look.”

“Come on, let’s get the lad inside.” They both gently help Crowley to his feet and pulls him along with them, until they reach the residence of the Youngs, and deposit the man on the closest bed.

“Better Master Snake stays here, than out there being gawked at.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Aziraphale says, and Arthur nods.

“Right. I’ll have Deirdre brew him something that’ll calm him down.”

If Aziraphale wasn’t so busy being worried he might have stopped to think about Crowley’s fears. His fear of being out by the humans, humans who have for centuries thought of his kind as evil, as creatures who should be killed.

But Aziraphale is too busy being worried, because he can’t seem to calm the shapeshifter down, and to make matters worse it almost seems like Crowley isn’t properly there with him either, as he just stares out into empty space as he mutters a name over and over again.

“Babylon… Babylon… Babylon…”


	6. The Snake That Left His Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And on we go, because our story does not continue here

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Aziraphale asks as Crowley makes his way to the path leading out of the village. He’s in his human shape, a sack on his back. The night before he announced to the people living here that he would leave, and be gone for quite some time. The village had been distraught, because they have been so dependent on the snake protecting them for the last century, but no matter what they had said, Crowley had not been swayed.

_“I’ll return. I don’t know when, but I will. But I have to go._” Crowley had told them, and no one had seemed rather happy about it, but realized that the battle was lost. Aziraphale is now making a last ditch effort for said people, as he doesn’t know what would make the redhead suddenly decide to leave.

“Yes, I am sure of it.” Crowley spits out through clenched teeth as he approaches the edge.

“Alright then.” The healer says, pulling back a bit. The shapeshifter seems to be on edge, but Aziraphale cannot understand why.

“Master Crowley, wait just one second, won’t you?” Both the blonde and redhead turns to see Arthur Young bustle down towards them. Crowley frowns, just waiting to be told for the hundredth time that he cannot just up and leave, yet the only thing the man does, is hold out some kind of glasses, the lenses being dark.

“For your eyes. People would ask questions.” Crowley blinks, dumbfounded as he accepts them. Only then does Crowley perhaps begin to think about the fact that he’s standing in front of the man as a human himself, and not a huge monster snake.

“The world isn’t so friendly to shapeshifters, after all. We’d rather like for you to have safe travels, so that you _do_ manage to return.” The words used here makes Crowley’s head snap up in surprise.

“You knew-“

“My grandfather stumbled upon you sleeping once. An invasion of your privacy, I know, but we’ve known for almost a hundred years.” Crowley’s jaw drops, brows furrows and he looks rather conflicted and confused at the very same time.

“We’re rather isolated out here, Master Crowley. We don’t much care for what happens outside of our home.” In a way, that is Arthur’s way of reassuring Crowley that they, all of them, do not care what he is, only _who _he is.

“Safe travels.” Arthur says, finally, bowing his head in a goodbye, before heading back to the village. Crowley stares at the coloured lenses, before slowly putting them on. Everything turns a lot darker, so he pulls them off again, thinking he’ll wear them whenever he comes across humans or their settlements. So he turns and begins the trek down the path leading away, steeling himself for the rather long journey ahead.

He ignored it the first few hours of travelling, before he shoots a glare over his shoulder.

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not. You’re just heading in the same direction I am.” Aziraphale explains. Crowley’s glare doesn’t let up, and he keeps a considerable distance between them as they travel. Aziraphale sighs. It had all gone so well, until Crowley had reverted to his human form, and Aziraphale had asked who he had been calling out to. What little ground he had managed to work out between them was gone the moment his question left his lips. Crowley is now treating him the same way he did when he woke up after breaking his fever.

The first week is, well, uncomfortable, to say the least. Crowley keeps a distance the whole time, and when they finally reach a village, the first one since they left Crowley’s home, Aziraphale finds himself entering the village, and watching as Crowley quietly makes his way straight through the settlement.

“That’s that, then.” Aziraphale mutters to himself, shoulders slumping. No attempts at regaining what little friendship they had managed to make will ever be made again. It’s a sad thing, really. Aziraphale had rather enjoyed Crowley’s company. Well, it’s quite clear that Crowley’s in a hurry, so it isn’t such a shock that he’s passing straight through.

Aziraphale stays a few nights in the village, but once he decides there’s nothing for him there, except for a rather soft bed, he purchases himself a horse, and continues on. It’ll be a long journey, not that the blonde is in any real hurry, but it’s much more comfortable to travel once one does not have to carry all one’s belongings by oneself.

He’s barely two weeks away from the village he and Crowley parted ways in, when a terrible deluge falls upon him as he and his mount is passing through a forest. AS long as to the keep to the more overgrown foliage, it’s not so bad, but Aziraphale has no intention of catching a cold just because he won’t take a break, so he searches for shelter. He finds a big and empty cave, and it’s big enough to bring the horse in. It’s not exactly warm and cosy, but it is dry, and Aziraphale pulls off his wet cloak, and wraps himself in his blanket. When he began his journey, he had never been deterred by any bad weather or anything he encountered that wasn’t exactly pleasant.

But right now, right now Aziraphale feels very, very lonely.


	7. The Snake's Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley needs to find her, he needs to find her quickly, because he knows her well enough to know leaving her alone in such a state is a recipe for disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now that my internship is over for this year, I might be able to upload more often

_It’s dark and he can’t see anything, but he can hear and feel everything. He can hear her cry out, he can hear sounds of fighting and fearful cries, both from a voice he knows, and several younger ones he’s never heard before but still feels a close connection to. But it’s all fear and it’s suffocating and no matter how hard he tries to call out, his own voice is trapped in his throat. Then the young voices cuts’ off and he feels an overwhelming rush of pain, grief, heart-break and a scream that rattles him to his very bones. _

“_Babylon!”_ Crowley jerks up into a sitting position, breathing heavily.

“Fuck.” He curses, running a hand through his hair as he resists the urge to curl together and shiver, not from the cold but the terror still embedded deep within his mind. He rolls his bedding together and decides to continue his travels early on. The sun is probably hours away still, but he’s too shaken to get any more sleep out of the night. So he continues his journey, and feels, as the sun stars to rise, that his feet seem really heavy. He’d be better off travelling in his snake form, it is quicker, but out here he can’t take that risk, what if he’s caught? All he can do is travel as quick as he can in his human form, be as inconspicuous as possible.

Those nightmares have been bothering him every night since he left his home, and he is well and truly exhausted. He’s surprised he’s lasted this long without proper rest, two months of travelling, give or take a few days. Crowley knows it’ll take much longer to find Babylon, but he’s closer now. The connection is stronger. It is well and truly almost impossible to explain their bond in human words, but this thread between him and his sibling has existed for as long as he can remember. He’s had this bond with all his siblings. They’re all cut now.

Only Babylon is left.

Which is why he can’t ignore this. He has to find her, has to learn what happened to cause her to cry out in the way she did. All these reasons have been the source of his quick pace, his strength, but just because he wants to travel at this pace without any hold ups, there’s a limit to his body’s strength. And he has completely and utterly exhausted himself. He barely notices it when he falls over and looses consciousness, right out in the open. By the time he realizes what is going on, he’s already slipping into the dark. He curses his own stupidity.

He’s plagued by the nightmares again, but his body is too exhausted for him to wake up, so they just repeat themselves again and again, until finally, he jerks awake, arms swinging wildly and hitting something.

“Oh dear!” A voice he knows exclaims and then he hears a loud _thud._

“Dear lord.” Aziraphale huffs as he pulls himself off of the ground, dusting off his clothes. “That’s some greeting.” The healer huffs again, and watches as Crowley just stares dumbfounded at him.

“Would you care for lunch? You certainly seem to need it.” There’s something sharp in the man’s voice and he doesn’t wait for Crowley to answer before he moves over to a small cauldron fixed above a fire. He returns with a bowl of stew and hands it over to the befuddled shapeshifter, who still isn’t quite sure if he’s awake, or if his nightmares have slid over into some kind of normal dream, a final attempt of his mind at finding some peace.

“Now… How did you catch up with me?” Crowley finally asks, once he realizes the heat of the bowl is real.

“I wasn’t trying.” Aziraphale tells him, but points towards his horse. Crowley blinks large serpentine eyes. “Obviously you’re in a hurry, but even with a horse I shouldn’t have been able to catch up with you, because I stayed several nights in all the villages I’ve been passing through.” Crowley fights the urge to scowl. The man is quite openly telling the shapeshifter that his pace has slowed quite some time ago. He’s been more out of it than he knew.

“You kept quite the pace when you first started, but now you’ve slowed down considerably.” Crowley can’t argue with that, because obviously it is true.

“Have you even eaten properly since you took off?” The way the healer looks at Crowley makes the shapeshifter feel like a scolded child. Which is frankly both hilarious and insulting, considering the redhead is centuries older than the blonde man in front of him. But he must look a sight, because Crowley hasn’t been eating properly since he went off. He’s been too intent on crossing ground, to get to the end of the journey, find the one he needed to find.

“What’s it to you-“

“I nursed you back to health, I’d rather the effort I put in doesn’t go to waste.” Aziraphale rolls his eyes in a way that tells the shapeshifter he isn’t in any trouble, really.

“I understand you’re in a hurry, but if you don’t give your body a break every now and then, you won’t be useful to anyone.” What’s the most annoying thing about this one-sided conversation isn’t that it is, indeed, one-sided, but that the human is right. But that doesn’t make things better, it only makes him more anxious, and Aziraphale seems to pick up on it. That’s also annoying.

“How about we travel together?” Now that catches the shapeshifter off guard, and he narrows his eyes at the blonde, trying to find any signs that this is a trap, that this is all a ploy for the blonde man to get close and ruin everything once he has the chance. But then, even through the centuries long distrust he’s carried against humans, he remembers that this man helped him, once, and helped him keep his secret from a village that actually knew the truth.

“How’s that going to sssolve anything?” Crowley hisses.

“I have a horse.” Aziraphale begins. “I don’t have to come with you all the way, but just enough that you won’t collapse again before reaching the end of your journey.” Crowley doesn’t argue with Aziraphale, because the healer is right, and having company and a bloody horse might make the trip easier. He still doesn’t trust the man, not fully and he probably never will, but the pros outweigh the cons.

“Alright. We can travel together, for a while.”

The next five months are much more pleasant for the both of them, than the last two months ever were. Crowley, to Aziraphale’s relief, isn’t so hostile, like he was when they departed the village, but he’s plagued with nightmares. Aziraphale prepares a draught for him that will help him in having a dreamless sleep. Crowley doesn’t always accept it, and Aziraphale feels bad at seeing the ghastly look on the shapeshifter in the morning whenever he’s been haunted by whatever horrors it is that he sees once his eyes close, but he cannot force the man to drink it. He can plead, though.

“Please, Crowley.” Aziraphale begs him one evening. “Drink the draught. You’re exhausted.” And Crowley agrees, because their pace has slowed down considerably when he refuses to drink the mixture. The next village they stop by, they purchase a second horse. Or, Aziraphale does. Crowley’s been living quite isolated for the last century, he’s not up to speed on how currency works anymore.

He doesn’t think horses are cheap, though. Too valuable to sold for a few coins.

He doesn’t comment on it, especially not when they can both ride. It saves time, and energy, but Crowley thinks that whoever created horses obviously wasn’t thinking straight. They’re really bloody hard on the buttocks. First when they’re three months into their journey does Crowley explain to Aziraphale why he left the mountain he’s called home for a long time now. Around the fire, they sit, eating a meagre supper as Crowley explains. Of how he must find his youngest sibling.

“You have siblings?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley nods, staring at the fire they’ve started. He suddenly doesn’t feel like finishing his food, thinking back to all those who he has lost, faces and voices he will never see or hear again. They had been so many, once. Unafraid, bold, loud. Not anymore.

“Had lotsss, once.” He says quietly. “Got a younger sister left.”

“And you decided you wanted to see her?” Aziraphale asks, confused. Family wanting to meet every now and then is normal, but the urgency of the shapeshifter’s departure makes something seem quite odd to the healer. This isn’t just a simple social visit, is it?

“We’re… When each of us were born, we were connected to each other, magically, in a way that ensured we could, er, communicate with each other. In a way. No matter the distance.” And the shapeshifter looks down into his lap where his hands are twisting together to the point his knuckles nearly turn white. When did he deposit his bowl? He really should finish it, even if the thought makes him want to empty his stomach.

“Your spell, back in the village…” Aziraphale is slowly piecing the puzzle together, because truly, Crowley back then had seemed to be caught off-guard, swept away by an emotion that was not his own, drowning in it. Everything that happened there had been involuntary.

“She called out, unconsciously. I need to find her.” Crowley says. “It feels stronger now, it’s probably not much farther. We’ll part ways soon.” Crowley doesn’t seem much too pleased at the thought, and it warms Aziraphale’s heart. He’s grown quite fond of the redhead, values the trust he has shown the healer by telling him this.

He also wants to keep travelling with Crowley.

It’s insensitive to ask, but it might ensure they continue to travel together, even after the point of their supposed separation, which is just right around the corner, maybe. Crowley, however, looks quite uncomfortable, and therefore Aziraphale finds himself unable to ask the question out loud.

Not yet.


	8. The Cuddle In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one for now.

The weather has turned sour. It’s no real surprise, as the leaves have started to turn yellow, the air colder, the rain more frequent. It’s rather depressing, really, not something pleasant to travel through out in the open, at least.

“It doesn’t look like it’ll be a very nice day at all.” Aziraphale says as he rolls up his bedroll.

“Best get on the road quickly then.” Crowley says as he saddles his horse, and the blonde stares at him as he pulls up all of his belongings on it as well. Which is odd, because they have not yet eaten.

“But, what about breakfast?” Aziraphale asks.

“We’ll eat as we go.” The blonde looks positively scandalized at Crowley’s suggestion, but the way the wind picks up and makes shivers travel up and down his spine makes him agree, at last. They’re out in the open with no shelter, they’d best hurry and find some. It is also becoming clear to Aziraphale that even if the draught keeps Crowley from having nightmares, it doesn’t help him sleep properly as the weather takes a sudden turn for the worse. Weeks later they find themselves stuck in a cave as they are caught in a storm. It’s cold, though they had already found some dry firewood from the day before, so they are not completely without any source of heat.

But their journey has been put on hold, and despite being wrapped in warm clothes and a blanket, sitting very close to the fire, Crowley is shivering. More than is usual. Aziraphale wonders for a moment if he’s coming down with an illness, but the shapeshifter is showing no symptoms, and thus he comes to another conclusion.

“You struggle with regulating your body temperature.” Aziraphale finally realizes, and the shapeshifter nods.

“It never truly gets cold back home. I’ve been more snake than human this last century, body isn’t adjusted to it yet.”

“So even wrapped up like that, you’re cold?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley nods again. Aziraphale still doesn’t know too much about snake biology, but he knows some things. Like the temperature regulations.

“Is this why you look so terrible every morning?” Crowley shoots him an offended glare from beneath all his layers and Aziraphale chuckles. “I mean, does it keep you from sleeping properly?”

“You’re enjoying this…”

“I enjoy learning.” Aziraphale admits. “Does it? Keep you from sleeping well?” Crowley nods yet again.

“It does. Should have anticipated it. I’ll get used to it.”

“The chattering of your teeth says otherwise.” Crowley glares again, though it feels rather tame with the way he’s tugging the blanket tighter around himself. Soon enough, Aziraphale can only see the glowing eyes beneath the blanket. It only serves to make the laughter return.

“Stop laughing.” Crowley growls from where he’s sitting.

“I’m sorry, you just look so adorable.” Apparently Crowley does take some offense from that.

“I’m a shapeshifter!” The man snaps. “I’m a great big monster who snatch up babes and swallow them whole.” That causes the laughter to cease, and Aziraphale stares at him.

“Is that what they say?” The blonde asks, and the huddled figure grows silent when he realizes that Aziraphale is asking him whether or not this is something humans has said. “Is that the reason we hurt you?”

“Among other things. Like how we also steal young children and turn them into little monsters and turn people inside out before eating them.” His voice grows quiet, bitter, angry.

“But you don’t.” There’s movement and Crowley peaks his head out of the blanket. “You haven’t eaten any from the village, and the children there adore you. Whatever we said about shapeshifters, it’s not true.” Crowley stares at him, a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

“You really didn’t know that?”

“No one’s reported seeing a shapeshifter for nearly a hundred years, so no, I didn’t know. To be honest, until I met you, I thought you were extinct.”

“Lucky you, you were wrong.” Crowley snarks and Aziraphale hums.

“Yes, I do feel rather lucky. I learned something new, and I gained a friend.” It’s quite astonishing how much Aziraphale finds himself surprising Crowley. It’s funny how his jaw drops, and his eyes widen. The slight tinge of colour over freckled cheeks is new though.

“You consider me a friend?”

“Well, yes, I do.” The shapeshifter sits very still for a long time, before sneezing and shivering again. He truly is not dealing well with the cold weather. Aziraphale will admit to also feeling a slight chill, so he makes a decision.

“Cuddle.”

“What?”

“We can cuddle. I’m a bit cold too. We can sit together and share our warmth?” He asks this purely because he is also feeling the chill, absolutely. It is not because he _wants_ to be close to the other man, it is _purely_ because he is cold too.

“Yes, alright.” Crowley says and gathers his layers and moves over to sit beside Aziraphale, who opens up his own blanket and lets the shapeshifter duck under. The shivering slowly disappears, and Aziraphale feels a pleasant drowsiness overtake him. It’s been a while since he’s been so close to someone. It’s… it’s rather pleasant, nice. Comfortable. He’s been rather content with being alone for quite some time, but now that he has a companion… He’d really rather not loose this just yet. The shapeshifter’s weight is suddenly pressed into his side, and Aziraphale glances down, sees Crowley struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Dear boy, rest. I’ll keep watch for a while.” Aziraphale says, carefully wrapping an arm around the redhead’s shoulders. To his great surprise, Crowley does not argue.

“I’m older than you.” Is all he says, then his eyes slide shut.


	9. The Final Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, they have come to the point in which they must part ways. As per their arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the ratings change to mature. It's nothing explicit, so I feel comfortable with just upping it to Mature

They have moved from sharing a blanket while awake, to share bedrolls at night. They tell stories of themselves in the firelight, tiny little truths that make them grow closer, that helps them rebuild that fragile friendship they had before they left the mountain-village, and keep on growing it into something more steadfast, something safer.

Aziraphale has realized that he dearly likes Crowley’s eyes. They’re such a beautiful colour, so unusual yet warm once you get past his walls, and so very expressive. His face may turn rather expressionless when he wants to hide something, but his eyes never do. They’re a wonder that tells a thousand stories. And Aziraphale doesn’t think himself all that dramatic when he thinks that.

Crowley, on his part, enjoys Aziraphale’s warmth and tenderness. He’s sure it’s the snake part of him that enjoys the warmth, but the gentle caress and soft smiles, those are things Crowley covets himself. This all started by the two needing to keep warm, and they still do, but the shapeshifter has grown to enjoy the cuddles too much for it to be just that.

He feels safe.

He hasn’t felt safe, not like this, for the longest time. Not since all his siblings were alive, not since he had a family. The redhead knows he won’t have this for much longer, but he’s going to enjoy it for as long as he can. This warmth, safety, touch that is not out to hurt but comfort, he’ll enjoy it until reality digs its claws into him again and tears him back into the cruel, shitty world he calls home. He’d rather call this comfort for home.

Aziraphale is content like this too. He’s no fool, he knows Crowley is more than just a travelling companion, more than a friend. He is a treasured person, so important it makes his heart ache, knowing this will end soon. Every night, they grow closer to separating, for their own individual purposes. Crowley for his quest, Aziraphale for his, admittedly, aimless wandering.

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaims softly, beginning to extract himself from the embrace. “I forgot to make your draught.”

“Leave it.“ Crowley mutters, constricting the blonde’s movements as he tightens his hold. “ ‘s fine as long ‘s you hold me.” The shapeshifter is too comfortable to move or let Aziraphale move. Now, if it isn’t for the fact that Aziraphale is just as invested in the warmth and pleasantness the cuddle affords, he would have pulled free regardless and given Crowley the mixture as per usual. But Aziraphale _is_ just as invested in it, and therefore he lays still. Perhaps it’s a mistake not giving the redhead the draught, but Aziraphale reasons with himself that they’re both far too comfortable to have any nightmares now.

“How do you feel?” He asks quietly as he shifts a bit, Crowley making a small sound as he is moved a bit.

“Comfortable. Sleepy.” The shapeshifter replies, just as quietly, breathing in, before sighing and relaxing completely. “Gon’ fall ‘sleep.”

“Good. Go ahead.” Aziraphale doesn’t know how or when it happened, but his hand finds its way into Crowley’s long hair, scratching at his scalp. Crowley’s asleep in seconds. Aziraphale feels like he isn’t far behind but fights to keep his eyes open for just a bit longer, just so he can look at Crowley’s relaxed face as he sleeps. Despite being a centuries old shapeshifter, which shows when he’s awake, he looks so young when he’s asleep. It’s precious, his beauty is nearly ethereal.

Aziraphale already knows he’ll be loath to give this up. Then he finds himself succumbing to sleep as well, before he can ponder more about it.

Crowley wakes to the feeling of Aziraphale shifting, pulling away. The shapeshifter realizes that he has slept through a whole night when he sees the bleak sunlight break through and tease the entrance of the cave they have spent the night in.

“Breakfast?” Aziraphale asks quietly and Crowley nods. They make it a quick affair and move on. They’ve barely been riding for more than a few hours before Crowley moves a hand to his chest. Aziraphale notices, and tilts his head in worry.

“What’s wrong?” Is the shapeshifter in pain? Is he not feeling well? Did he perhaps not sleep as well as the blonde had thought he had done. Had he suffered the nightmares, but managed to keep quiet about it so as not to disturb the healer?

“She’s much closer than she was a few days ago.” Crowley says, appearing a bit astonished.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Aziraphale asks, and the redhead nods, although casting his eyes to the ground, and the blonde realizes the meaning of Crowley’s words. They will part ways soon, before they reach Babylon, before they’re too close for her to realize her brother is travelling with a human.

“How close?”

“A week’s travel, maybe.” The shapeshifter answers after thinking for a few moments, hand on his chest. It is clear that he is happy she is so close, that he has finally found her after such a long journey, yet he also seems a bit saddened. At least Aziraphale thinks so. He shakes his head and pulls out his map, examining it.

“There’s a town not far from here. How about we go there? A nice warm bed and a proper bath sounds heavenly, don’t you think, and we can enjoy a good, hearty meal together?”

_Before parting ways_. Those words, even unsaid, hangs heavily between them. Neither wants to bring it up. But it is, indeed, a fact that they cannot escape.

“Sounds… nice.” Crowley forces the words out. The last thing he wants is to stay in a human settlement, because he’ll never trust humanity, even if he has come to trust the human he is travelling with. Yet a hot meal, and the promise of a warm, comfortable soak and a proper bed sounds divine. And he wants to enjoy his final hours with this precious friend he’s made. For as long as he dares.

His first true friend in well over a century.

If the two clutches more tightly to each other that night and the next, well, neither comment on it.

Two days later they find themselves entering the town close to nightfall. As the innkeeper has someone prepare two rooms for them, they eat. The atmosphere is as it’s been every night, at least after they began opening up again, and avoid thinking about what it means being here in this town.

“Beelzebub, they were the oldest.” Crowley says over a mug of wine. “Always went about scaring the shit out of our sire, but they were good.” There’s a wistful tone of voice that makes Aziraphale keep silent, to let Crowley indulge in the memories for a while longer. The small smile on his face as he drifts off into his own thoughts is quite… well, beautiful is the only word for it.

“Anywaysss,” Crowley sets the cup down, “owe them a lot. Got away most of the time because of them.” He’s absentmindedly scratching at his neck again ,and Aziraphale wants to ask what caused the marks around his neck, though he can hazard a guess.

“They sound lovely.” Aziraphale says, pausing his eating to watch Crowley’s eyes glaze over, realizing his mistake by using present tense. This Beelzebub is no longer around, and the thought must hurt terribly, but then Crowley comes back around and Aziraphale resists the urge to sigh in relief. They share a few more stories over dinner, before they are shown to their rooms.

“May I come by later, after our baths? With some more wine? One… last toast?” Aziraphale asks and Crowley nods. They seem to both want to prolong this, with as many “one last’s” as they can fit into the last hours.

“I’d enjoy that.” The redhead admits, before entering his room, where all his belongings have been brought, along with a giant tub with hot water which stands in the middle of the room. He removes his clothing, and sinks into the water, feeling the wear and tear of months in the wild, all the aches of riding a horse, whose whole bloody design Is a rather big flop if you ask him, all his troubles, except one, melts away. The moment it feels like the water begins to cool, he lets one palm brush the surface as he mutters a small spell. The water instantly reheats, and he sinks further into the tub. He’s so comfortable, to the point he nearly drifts into sleep, only to blink bleary eyes open when there’s a knock on the door. Idly he wonders how long he’s been in the tub, as he calls out that it’s open.

Aziraphale is carrying two jugs, a small smile on his face as he opens the door, only to widen his eyes and nearly back-track back outside.

“Oh I’m so sorry!”

“What for?” Crowley asks as he sits up a bit more properly, leaning forward to cross his arms over the side of the tub, wet strands of hair sticking to his skin.

“I, well, you’re not clothed.”

“Is that a problem?” Crowley raises a brow, because he is far too comfortable to be bothered to move, to bow to a human’s wish for him to be clothed because nakedness is such an “embarrassing” thing. Crowley’s never understood that particular human trait.

“No, well, if it doesn’t bother you?” Aziraphale is no stranger to skin. Many of his patients have been stripped bare for him, but that by necessity. His mind had been otherwise occupied at the time. There is no emergency here, and by the gods… Aziraphale shakes his head and closes the door behind him, before any curious patron decides to look inside.

“Wine?” If his voice pitches higher, Crowley doesn’t comment on it, thankfully. He just nods and accepts the cup the blonde hands him. Soon enough the whole awkwardness is forgotten, and they speak quietly together. Aziraphale feels his question burn on his tongue, swallows hard to resist speaking it out loud.

_Can’t I stay with you?_

The wine doesn’t wash away the bitter burn, though he had hoped. He drinks slowly, because once all the wine is gone, he’ll have no more reason to stay within the confines of Crowley’s room anymore. Because he is painfully aware of this one fact, that once the wine is gone, it’ll be over. Once the wine is gone, they’ll part ways. Once the wine is gone, they’ll never see each other again.

The thought hurts.

“Can you pass me the towel?” Crowley asks quietly, and Aziraphale is brought out of his thoughts. Towel, yes, of course. He’s a bit unsteady as he gets up on his feet, and grabs the cloth, moving closer to the tub. It nearly brings tears to his eyes when the shapeshifter climbs out of the tub, his back facing Aziraphale.

“It’s not even a year ago that you didn’t trust me to stand behind you, out of sight.” He says, dropping the fabric over the redhead’s shoulders.

“Didn’t know you then.” Crowley responds, quickly drying himself off, towel wrapped around his waist as he makes to gather his clothes, only to freeze up and stand ramrod straight at the feel of fingertips ghosting over his back. Neither speaks as Aziraphale, emboldened by the wine, lets his finger trace over the marks on Crowley’s back. Some of them are deep, jagged, makes him feel sick in his stomach at the thought of what could have caused them. It doesn’t stop him from asking, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“What caused this?” Aziraphale trails a finger lightly across Crowley’s back, from his hip and nearly up to his shoulder blade.

“A whip.” Crowley says quietly. It had steel knots embedded into it. It had torn at his flesh horribly, over his hip.

“And this?” Aziraphale barely touches the deep indent at his side.

“Spear.” He’d been stabbed through, thought he would die. He didn’t.

“These?” Jagged slashes over his shoulder.

“Lion.” They had been young, still, not even a century old, and Babylon had been thrown into a pit, bound on both hands and legs. He’d nearly been mauled in his attempt at getting her up to Beelzebub, who pulled them both out.

“And…” Aziraphale’s voice shakes. He doesn’t have to ask, Crowley knows each and every one of his scars are, and the story about them. Aziraphale just have to touch it, and he’ll know.

“A lot of things.” Crowley answers as he carefully turns around. “I mostly remember screaming a lot.” He’s shocked to see Aziraphale crying when he turns fully around.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale shakes his head and makes a futile attempt at stopping the tears.

“I just…” He breathes in deep, voice cracking as he forces the words out. “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you. I’m _horrified_ this happened to you. You’re such a good man, you don’t deserve all of this.” By now, Crowley should not be so surprized by the pure _goodness_ that Aziraphale seem to be made of, the compassion, the good, the love he seems to be broadcasting to everyone by just standing close, but he is.

“Come now, angel.” A pet name that suddenly just occurs to him, because it seems to suit the blonde perfectly, just by how he is. So unlike any other human Crowley has ever met, open-minded, loving and _accepting_.

“The world has roughed me up, left me ugly and scarred, but-“

“_You’re not ugly!”_ Aziraphale nearly yells, cutting Crowley off quite rudely. “The ones who did this to you were ugly, their souls and minds warped and twisted. They left their ruthless marks on you, but they don’t detract from your beauty, they add to it! The world has been cruel to you, but you didn’t become cruel in turn. You survived it all, you stand here still so strong and kind and _good_, and it makes you all the more beautiful!” There’s a pause, in which Aziraphale realizes that Crowley’s eyes are wide, the pupils so slit the black is nearly invisible. That is a clear sign that he is angry, isn’t it? Oh, Aziraphale has overstepped, hasn’t he?

“I’m sorry- I overstepped, I’m sorry I-“ Aziraphale backtracks, looks away, thinks about leaving the room before Crowley can throw him out, because the thought hurts too much to bear, but finds himself yanked to Crowley who smashes his mouth to his. Aziraphale is only allowed a moments respite when the shapeshifter pulls back, only to dive back in for the blonde’s neck, nosing along the soft line of Aziraphale’s jaw. Neither of the two know if it is the wine’s fault that this is happening, that the dam finally burst, though both can admit silently to themselves that they have wanted to do this for some time, and therefore neither of them care what made this happen. All they care about is that it _is happening_.

Clothes are pulled off, a towel discarded, both of them desperate to map out the other through touch, eyes closed as sensations overwhelm them. Harsh gasps, loud moans, hands grabbing, pulling, caressing. It’s all so much. Aziraphale whimpers into Crowley’s mouth as they fall upon the bed, it’s all so quick, frantic, hurried, like they believe opening their eyes and slowing down will make reveal this to be nothing more than a dream. Aziraphale finds himself unable to keep up the pace, he wants to touch and be touched, and it is too much and not nearly enough, and the way Crowley licks and sucks at his neck, the rut of his hips has the words spill out from his mouth before Aziraphale can stop them, swallow them back down and guard himself from the inevitable heartbreak.

“Take me with you.” It’s nothing more than a breathless whimper, but Crowley hears, and stops moving, his hips, his hands, his mouth, and pulls back to look at the blonde. His previous slit pupils are blown out, more black than yellow. He simply stares at Aziraphale for many moments, and the blonde barely dares to breathe, so afraid he has ruined perhaps their one final evening, which could have left them both with such a loving memory, even if Aziraphale knows it would haunt him forever.

But Crowley doesn’t pull away completely, he doesn’t slide off the bed and turn his back on Aziraphale. Instead he reaches between them, wraps his hand around the both of them, and all Aziraphale is aware of is the mounting pleasure, the slow movement of Crowley’s hips, how his own nails are digging into freckled and scarred skin, and then the low words Crowley breathes out against his ear.

“Come with me.” Aziraphale exhales a gasp. “Come with me. Stay beside me, always.”

“Always.” Aziraphale repeats, pulling Crowley back a bit to be able to kiss him, before he topples over the edge with a cry, clinging to the shapeshifter. When Aziraphale finally comes back to himself, finally manages to blink the haze away, he finds Crowley’s face hidden in the crook of his neck as he breathes heavily. It takes a few moments before the shapeshifter finds the strength to pull himself up.

“I meant it.” Crowley whispers, so quietly that Aziraphale more feels it against his lips than hears it. “Come with me.”


	10. The Survivor of The Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an upcoming exam this week, but once that's over, I'll update more regularly again!

“And that’s how it works, sort of. That’s why I know she’s been moving closer-“ Crowley falls quiet in the middle of his explanation as it wracks his body. Pain. Raw, physical pain. He clings to his horse as it courses through him, and his muffled cry startles the animal. Aziraphale is quickly by his side, grabbing the reins and calms the horse before it can buck the redhead off.

“Crowley? What’s wrong?” He exclaims worriedly. This came out of nowhere, just like what happened back in the mountain village.

“Something- She’s in pain, the fuck is, this is too much!” Crowley manages to spit out through gritted teeth. This is entirely different from what he’s ever felt before. He can feel it as if it’s all happening to him, but it’s not, and his body and brain is so confused. The signals are there, but the wounds are not.

“I’ll dismount you!” Aziraphale says when he realizes that this time is different than in the village. Back then, whatever Crowley had felt had stopped, but this time it doesn’t stop, and this time it’s something else too, something much worse, Aziraphale can see it. If it isn’t for the fact that he is so worried about what Crowley feels right now, he’d wonder if the reason why Crowley is in such a shape now is because they are much closer to his sibling than they were almost a year ago.

“No!” Crowley waves his arm frantically, stopping the blonde. “Lead- ngk, lead my horse!”

“This is too much, you’re in pain!” The redhead will fall off on his own if they continue to move.

“Because we’re so much closer now! We have to keep moving, this, it’s what happened to me once, we must keep moving, we can’t stall!” Something like this, no one deserves this, absolutely no one. Crowley would not wish this on his worst enemy, and certainly not his youngest sibling.

“What happened, Crowley?” Aziraphale demands, not at all comfortable with moving on until Crowley’s pain has stopped. The healer in him demands that he dismounts and bring Crowley comfort and relief from the pain he is feeling, to look him over and make sure that nothing truly ails him, but Crowley will never allow it. He knows he’ll more likely manage to hurt Crowley in an attempt at calming him down.

“Just move-“ Crowley is adamant about that, but Aziraphale is not going to have them move while he is in such pain without a very good explanation.

“What. Happened?”

“Fucking torture!” Crowley shouts, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted in pure determination to avoid crying out in pain again. Aziraphale stares for just a moment, before yanking on the reins of Crowley’s horse and continuing on.

“You better not fall off!” The blonde calls as he ups the speed into a gallop. Crowley makes a noise of agreement. Aziraphale is thankful when the pain stops, though it’s only during a short few hours period of time. Crowley grows more and more furious each and every time he gets a reprieve and Aziraphale is almost thankful for it. It makes his exhaustion easier to ignore, until one night, he just can’t. Aziraphale is a healer, he helps the ailing, sick people, wounded people, people crippled by pain. Crowley is one of those right now.

“What are you doing?” Crowley demands when Aziraphale lays his hands over the man’s chest after he nearly doubles over when he attempts at climbing up on his horse.

“Tell me when the pain is nearly gone.” Aziraphale forgoes an explanation, just gives Crowley this instruction before his hands start to glow. Crowley almost protests, afraid that Aziraphale’s magic will momentarily cut off his bond with Babylon, but the relief from the constant agony is just too sweet. When it’s no more than a dull throb, he tells the healer so, and Aziraphale pulls back quickly.

“What did you do?”

“A sort of a painkiller. It won’t last for too long, I’m afraid, and it’s, well, it can’t be used too many times, I’m not comfortable with that. We should hurry.” Another three days pass before they reach a rather grand town. Aziraphale watches Crowley concentrate, before his lips curl back into a vicious snarl, snake-fangs poking over his lower lip.

“She’s in there.” Crowley says through gritted teeth. The throbbing, which thanks to Aziraphale’s magic has been easy to ignore, is starting to grow in intensity, it probably won’t be long until the pain returns in full force, crippling him. Crowley tries to think back to the last time he was anywhere near an actual human city. Not since before Beelzebub died, and the memories from that time are hardly pleasant. Babylon’s stay here isn’t something he can imagine as comfortable either and the shapeshifter aims to make her stay as short as possible. She’s already been there for too long, especially if she’s projecting her situation like a beacon. She needs to get out, now. She needs to be brought to safety. He doesn’t want to think about what he’ll find in there. _How _he’ll find her in there.

“Crowley-“ Aziraphale begins, wanting to tell Crowley to wait outside, because it will be much safer for the blonde, a human, to wander through the city to gather some information, than for the shapeshifter to barge in. Whoever has his sister had found out her nature by some means, what’s to say they can’t unmask Crowley as well? But before he can say so, he is cut off by a shrill voice.

“Don’t go in there!” Both turn around, and witness a young girl, a girl who can be no older than perhaps eight summers, maybe less even, short blonde curls and orange eyes, hands balled at her sides. She’s so small, and terrified, and Aziraphale’s heart breaks for her. She looks like she’s been through something horrible. Her clothes are torn and dirty, and her eyes have a hollow look to them. Aziraphale wonders if he’ll be able to offer her some safety until they can find a safe place to leave her, but before he can say or do anything, Crowley lurches forward. The girl’s eyes widen, and she moves to turn around and run, but in three long strides the lanky shapeshifter has managed to reach her and snag her arm, yanking her back, his hands landing firmly on her shoulders, holding her in place as he stares at her intently. She struggles.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaims, hurrying after him, but by the time he reaches them, the girl has stopped struggling, and is staring back at Crowley in awe.

“Crowley, what is going on?” But the shapeshifter doesn’t answer.

“You’re like me.” The girl says quietly, and finally Crowley speaks.

“You… Look exactly like Babylon.” And that would explain why he had been so speechless, why he had leaped forward like a man possessed. And suddenly the girl bursts out crying, sagging into Crowley, as if she’s so relieved to see him, as if he’s a welcome refuge she has been searching for.

“She said you’d come!” She wails. “Mam said you’d come for us!” Crowley stands up, picking the still wailing girl up with him, turning half-way around to look at the city, before turning to look at the healer.

“We need to find a place to hide.” He tells the blonde, who nods, but before anything more can be said, the girl speaks through her sobs.

“C-cave.” The girl hiccups, pointing away from the village, and into a forest not too far away. Aziraphale brings their horses as the girl refuses to let go of Crowley as she seems unable to stop her weeping. Only once as they walk does Aziraphale see Crowley stumble, gritting his teeth. The blonde worries for a moment that the pain-erasing magic he had cast is already fading, but the shapeshifter doesn’t show any other signs of pain, and so the healer is reassured that all is still well.

Rather, nothing _is_ well, but physically at least… At least physically there is nothing to worry about yet. Other than the poor dear clinging to Crowley like he’s her lifeline. It doesn’t take long to find the cave, and inside there is but one single cloak. Aziraphale fastens their horses to threes outside, and when he enters, he sees Crowley crouch down, one arm still holding the blonde girl, the other holding the cloak up as his long serpentine tongue flicks out.

“This is Babylon’s.” He mutters, and the child, now calm, nods.

“They took her, a few days ago.” The girl says.

“What’s your name?” She looks up at him, the dark circles around her eyes makes her look gaunt, but it’s almost like he’s seeing a mirror image of Babylon when she was this age.

“She named me after you.” The girl says as Aziraphale sets down their backpacks. “I’m Tonya.” Aziraphale pauses, because that doesn’t make sense to him. How is her name, in any way, related to ‘Crowley’? The redhead, on the other hand, just stares, before passing a hand over his face.

“Of course she did, silly hawk.” He sits down properly and brings Tonya to look at him.

“Who were you?” The question is odd to Aziraphale’s ears, and the girl reaches out to twirl a lock of Crolwey’s hair around her fingers. It seems to bring her some comfort, and Crowley lets her.

“I’m the youngest in the litter… Now… Now I’m the oldest.” And it’s so obvious what she means, even if she avoids using the words for it.

“Were you traveling ever since then?” The girl nods.

“Mam said we had to find you. She didn’t manage to shift in the beginning, she was so sad, but then they caught up to us and she did shift, said that if I kept running, I’d find you, that you were close.”

“But you didn’t keep running.” Crowley says and the girl shakes her head.

“Too scared. Hid here.” Crowley looks her over, before turning his head to Aziraphale.

“Could you make something to eat, Aziraphale? She’s starving.” The girl looks up at the redhead, eyes wide, glancing for all but a second at Aziraphale before leaning up to whisper to Crowley. She doesn’t whisper very quietly.

“You trust a Man?” Aziraphale tries not to flinch at the disbelief in her voice and sets about doing what Crowley asked of him. The fact that his heart swells and he feels a warm feeling in his chest when Crowley says that he does, well, it’s heart-warming, reassuring. As he goes about starting a fire and fishing out food from their backpacks, Crowley changes his shape, not fully turning into a snake, only his lower half. His legs melt together and grows to be thrice as long as his own body, and he coils it together. Tonya lets her hands trail over the shiny scales, and Aziraphale tries to focus on casting a fire and trying not to stare at the beautiful form of Crowley being half-human, half-snake.

“You are shiny, like mam is feather-y.” Tonya says, poking curiously at the scales that has popped up on his skin as well. A few dot his stomach and shoulders, and he lets Tonya poke at him for a moment. Shifting his shape makes her focus on something else. She is familiar with this, yet the shape and person are new to her.

“This will be scary, but I need you to answer this.” The redhead says, grasping the young child’s chin and making her look at him again. “Was your mother brought into the town?” Tonya nods.

“Did she ever call your attackers ‘hunters’?” The girl nods again.

“They threw some kind of dust at her, and she fell. Didn’t fight them.” Crowley can guess at what it is but doesn’t tell the girl.

“Do you know where?” It’s a long shot to ask, the girl had been absolutely terrified of the city, but to his great astonishment, she nods again.

“Snuck in as a farmer’s goat.”

“Clever girl.” Crowley praises, and she blushes.

“It was scary. But inside a big, spiky building. It has a big tower, with a big bell.”

“I see.”

“Are you going to save her?” Tonya asks hopefully, and Crowley nods.

“Once it’s dark, I’ll go into the city. But first, you need food.” The girl lunges forward and wraps her arms around his neck, the tremble alerting him that she’s close to tears again.

“A brave little one you are. Did all that you could and more.” Crowley pats her back, murmuring quietly. “Don’t worry, we’ll get your mother back, I swear.” By the time the sky darkens, and Tonya has eaten, the young shapeshifter has long since fallen asleep by pure exhaustion. Crowley wraps her in her mother’s cloak, hoping she’ll have better dreams than he’s had lately, and stands up. Aziraphale follows him to the mouth of the cave.

“You can’t go alone.”

“That was the plan from the beginning, angel.”

“It’s too dangerous! What if my spell wears off?” Aziraphale argues desperately. The expression on Crowley’s face makes him pause.

“Your spell wore off hours ago.” Crowley tells him. “I’m just too fucking furious to feel anything else.” The redhead glances back inside at Tonya, before looking back at Aziraphale, reaching forward and pulling the blonde close, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Watch over her for me.” And then the shapeshifter turns and disappears. Aziraphale is left behind in the dark, alongside a sleeping child who is most suspicious of him.


	11. The Wounded Hawk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exams are all over and done with, and here you all go! Thank you so much for your patience!

There isn’t much Babylon is aware of at the moment, except for the ever-present painful throbbing and aches all over her whole body. She doesn’t know how long she’s been in this foul place, but she knows one thing; the very last of her litter is still alive. Her capturers always ask the same question; Where is the little hell beast?

Tonya is far from a hell beast, the humans are far more monstrous than that child will ever be. Babylon is also aware of her older brother, can feel that his presence is close. If Babylon isn’t so exhausted, she’d pray to whatever deity who can hear her that her brother finds Tonya safe and sound. And brings her far away as quickly as he can. Crowley is careful, he’s clever. He’ll see reason and bring Tonya to safety, no matter his own feelings on the matter.

She hears the creek of the door to her cell open and waits for her chains to be yanked and for her to dangle from the roof, another session of questioning about to happen. She’s too exhausted to brace herself, but when nothing happens, she does manage to furrow her brows a bit. Something is different. A hand is carefully pushing her matted and blood-caked hair out of her face, and she hears a hiss of anger, and warmth and familiarity and she forces her eyes open to make sure she isn’t imagining things or falling into a new trap. And there he is, her older brother, yellow eyes narrowed with worry as he looks her over. He curses in an old language long forgotten by most.

“Anthony?” It’s a name she hasn’t used for so long, her voice cracking with the sheer, brittle emotions she feels at the sight of her brother hunched over her.

“They did a fine number on you.” Crowley says quietly. Babylon isn’t sure she’s even conscious, because this might all just be her mind playing tricks, trying to distract her from the hell she’s trapped in.

“Why… You can’t be here.” Because truly, he cannot. It makes no sense. It doesn’t make her feel any better about the situation.

“ ‘course I can, you fool.”

“No, no it’s … not right, impossible.” Crowley sucks in a deep breath as her eyes flutter shut, the way her voice is so quiet and nearly desperate, like she does want to believe that he is there, but just can’t. So he has to tell her about things he didn’t know before coming here, things she never told him in her letters.

“You have a crying little brat holed up in a cave and we need to get you there.”

“Not true. I don’t have any children.” The words are wrong, and she feels revolted for having uttered them, but this must be a trick. Crowley isn’t here, this is the hunters just trying to trick her into telling them where Tonya is. And Tonya must be safe by now, she must have found Crowley by now, she must be far away now. The thought fills her with both relief and a deep grief. She can hear the angry hiss again, so like Crowley’s but it can’t be. She isn’t giving them anything, and it must be so horribly annoying to them. It fills her with a bit of pride.

“Your first ever shape was a mouse, and I nearly ate you.” Her breath hitches. Only she and Crowley knows this. “And you named your youngest Tonya, after me.” Babylon blinks her eyes open again, and properly looks at Crowley, focusing on that connection of theirs. If she had any strength left in her, she’d have shed tears.

“Why are you here?”

“Berate me after we get to safety, alright?” Crowley mutters as he carefully sits her up. She’s in a bad shape, and he makes a split-second decision.

“You’ll have to ride me.”

“I can’t.”

“Either that, or I swallow you.”

“I can’t.” She’s too exhausted, too beaten and Crowley covers her in a blanket. She won’t survive being swallowed for long either.

“Just hold on. I might need one arm free.”

“A half-shift?” Babylon fights to keep her eyes open. “Too dangerous. They’ll see your face.”

“I have a cloak.” Crowley says as he begins the transition. Babylon is unable to keep her eyes open, but she is vaguely aware of what is happening around them for some time. At first, all she can hear is Crowley moving them about, sometimes she hears voices, in which they stop moving. She’s not sure when she fully loses consciousness, but she remembers nothing of their escape. The next thing she knows is a touch, a cooling balm over burning skin. There is pain, but yet it seems easier than it should, to bear it.

“She’s waking.” A voice she does not know says.

“Mam is okay?” However, that is Tonya, and how sweet it is to hear her voice!

“Not yet. But with time, care and patience, she will be. Fetch your uncle, dear, he’ll want to be here.”

“Don’t order me around, Man.” A deep-rooted terror fills Babylon, because why is she and Tonya anywhere near a human? Had it all truly been a hallucination? Had her brother not come for her?

“I’m sorry, my dear.” The unknown voice says kindly. “Would you mind fetching your uncle? He was so worried when he brought your mother here.”

“Fine.” Tonya sounds… she sounds fine, and Babylon does her very best to gather enough strength to open her eyes, and she sees a kind-looking, soft-blonde man, with an expression of incredible concentration as his hands glow. She is quickly aware of what he is doing. She can feel her skin knit together, aches disappearing. She just doesn’t understand why this human is healing her.

“You’re a better patient than Crowley.” And the shapeshifter is aware that the human knows she is awake and is smiling kindly at her. “At least you lie still as I heal you.” She doesn’t say anything, but her heart rate picks up, her breathing quickens, and she feels dizzy with terror.

“Oh dear, I mean you no harm, I swear.” The man says, attempting to console her. Before anything happens, Crowley is there.

“What’s happening.”

“She’s scared. If you could calm her down, that’d be much appreciated.” Aziraphale says, and in an instant Crowley is kneeling beside Babylon, one hand brushing the hair from her face, muttering words in a language Aziraphale does not understand, but it calms the female shifter, who whimpers and turns her head towards her brother.

“It’ll be alright.” Crowley mutters in that ancient language as he brushes her hair gently, watching the wounds close at the behest of Aziraphale’s magic. Babylon whimpers.

“He won’t hurt you, trust me. He’ll help you, and once you’re better, I’ll take you somewhere safe, where there are no hunters. There are children there, Tonya will have friends, and there are mountains you can explore. I promise, it’s safe.”

“Is there any place safe?” The raw hurt in her voice makes him swallow.

“Yes. It’s safe. I swear it.” It appears like she wants to believe him, but has a hard time doing so, and he can’t blame her after her ordeal.

“How much more?” Crowley asks Aziraphale, who’s frowning.

“It’ll take a while. They did a lot of damage. She needs a lot of rest, food and water. I can’t force her body to heal without her having the proper strength for it. I’m sorry, but there are limits, even to magic.” Crowley nods and looks down at Babylon. He is furious and scared because by now the hunters must have noticed that their captive has escaped. Crowley hasn’t been idle since returning with Babylon. Once it was clear that Aziraphale could help her, the redhead had left the cave and imbedded his own magic into the plant life while simultaneously threatening them. Should anyone come here with cruel intentions, the whole forest itself will have them walking in circles. Better that, than to be brought before Crowley’s fury.

No one will find them until they’re good and ready to be found. In other words; never. But still, the quicker they’re on their way, the better. Babylon, even when healed, is in no condition to fight. She’s had no time to mourn properly. Tonya said so herself, they’ve been on the run since the tragedy happened. And she even had trouble shifting for quite some time. The emotional trauma is just too great. Aziraphale retracts his hands and the glow fades. Crowley blinks confused.

“She needs nutrition. I’ll have a broth ready soon.” Just as he says this, Tonya returns, looking at the horrible shape her mother is, and braves a small smile. Her mother may look like she’s on death’s door, but at least she is there.

“Mam.”

“Sweetling.” Babylon pulls at Crowley, and he pulls her up into a sitting position, having her rest against his chest as the child clambers up into his lap. Babylon wraps her arms around her daughter and breathes in deep.

“Are you unharmed?”

“Yes, mam. Are you okay?” Tonya’s bright eyes are wet with tears, as she knows that her mother isn’t truly well, and won’t be for quite some time, but what else can she ask? But Babylon smiles and rests her forehead against her daughters.

“I will be.” Crowley wraps his arms around the both of them, holding them close while making sure he isn’t putting too much stress son his younger sibling’s battered and bruised body. She’s safe, for now. That in itself is a victory.

“Who’s the Man?” Babylon finally asks, and Crowley imagines that if it isn’t for the fact that she’s still utterly exhausted, there would have been some acid in her voice.

“Someone who’s saved my life, twice.” Crowley tells her quietly. “He’s important to me, and he can be trusted.” She doesn’t seem convinced but doesn’t argue.

“I wouldn’t have brought him along if I thought he was a threat, Babylon.” And she knows he wouldn’t have, that her brother would never actively put them in harm’s way, would walk through fire and hell if he has to, yet still, still it is so hard to calm herself, to not stay on guard and watch every move the human makes. She keeps herself from saying anything, the words burning like acid in her mouth.

“He’s not like the others.” It is Tonya who speaks.

“He’s kind. I was scared of being alone with him at first, so he stayed away, tried to make me feel safe. He feels… good, smells _good_.” Babylon regards her daughter and Crowley blinks in astonishment.

“You may never trust him, because he is a Man, but… but I believe he’ll never hurt us.” And truly, anyone else would say that Tonya’s words are born out of naivety, that she hasn’t yet learned of the cruelty of this world, that she doesn’t understand, not truly.

But Tonya does know. She does know how quickly tragedy can strike, and she has not forgotten. She never will. And Babylon watches the human’s reaction to Tonya’s words, sees the wobble of his lower lip and happiness in his eyes. Despite her suspicions, her centuries-old hatred and fear so deeply rooted in her soul, she can already see that this person is a terrible liar, that deception is not part of his way.

She still will not trust him just on this.

“Don’t expect me to accept this.” She mutters quietly, looking up at Crowley, eyes hard. She’s happy _he’s_ there, but the human she can do without.

“I don’t.” Crowley replies. “Tell me, please? What happened?” At once, Babylon looks stricken, a gaunt expression on her face as she remembers what caused them to be in this situation. Crowley’s heart twists at the sight, as it appears as if Babylon can’t decide whether to cry or scream or destroy something or just break apart.

“Tell me about them?” He asks softly and the blonde swallows with a tremendous effort. It feels like hours pass by before she finally rasps out.

“Ada, Tacita, Otho, Elm…” It’s a quiet whisper.

“That’s what I named them.”


	12. The Story of Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is wracked with guilt. Because all of this is his fault. Babylon's loss is his fault

Aziraphale is practically shaking as he lays some ways from the fire. It’s not because of the cold, the plant life is doing a remarkable job with trapping the heat of the fire in the cave. No, it is because he heard Babylon and Tonya’s story, and he knows of the man who caused them such unimaginable horrors. The man is a monster, through and through. Aziraphale has also lost someone to that man, and if he thought ill of the man before, he is absolutely unforgivable now.

Crowley, in his half-transition, is curled up around his sister and niece, but far from asleep himself. He sees how Aziraphale trembles, and believes, for a second that it is the cold, and he wishes he could curl up around Aziraphale as well, guard him against the cold like the blonde did to him during their journey together. A sniffle makes him think otherwise. The healer isn’t cold, he’s distraught, and Crowley feels powerless, because he’s afraid to move, worried he’ll disturb Babylon and Tony’s much needed slumber. But he also desperately wants to comfort Aziraphale as well.

After some time, and several sniffles from the blonde, Crowley braves the waters.

“Aziraphale.” He speaks up, and the healer’s breath hitches, caught in his throat. He lies frozen still.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley tries again, and the blonde turns his head enough for Crowley to see the red-rimmed eyes. Truly, he has been crying. “What’s wrong?” And the question seems to absolutely wreck the man, and Crowley uncoils himself carefully from his remaining family and moves towards Aziraphale, who sits up and holds up his hand in a gesture for Crowley to stay away.

“Please, no…” He whispers and Crowley stops short, brows furrowing. To suddenly be denied something he’s had for months… it stings. And it makes no sense. Aziraphale is distressed, he is in need of comfort, so why is he denying Crowley?

“You’ll hate me for this.” The words makes a chill go down Crowley’s spine.

“Hate you for what?” He asks quietly.

“For what I’m about to tell you.” The man appears to be a mix of horrified and guilt-stricken, and Crowley can’t understand why. He’s not sure he wants to either.

“Then don’t tell me.” He says, attempting to move closer again, and this time Aziraphale allows it as he dissolves into sobs. Quickly Crowley slithers over and wraps his arms around the blonde, pulling him close. Aziraphale slumps, covering his mouth to stifle his cries. Crowley’s never been any good with words, he always stumbles over them, usually doesn’t find the right ones to say in such situations, but he’s good with his actions, he’s good with comforting touches, he’s had a lot of practice with that during his long life. So he cards his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, lets him cry until there are no more tears and only little sniffles.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable with. I doubt that I’d hate you no matter what you say.” Aziraphale chokes on a sob.

“But I must, because I can’t keep this from you, not after what they’ve been through. And you will, you will hate me.” Whatever it is that Aziraphale is burdened with, it cannot be that bad, Crowley thinks.

“I had an older brother.” Aziraphale begins. “His name was Gabriel. He was-was a priest, kind of.”

“A priest?”

“Yes. He travelled a lot, learning about several different gods, cultures and religions. He never stuck to serving all of them, of course, but he had made it his calling to enlighten others, to give them a proper chance to learn of the other cultures, see the similarities, to learn to respect other’s values. I always admired that, I looked up to him. He taught me how to wield a sword.” Aziraphale pauses, blinking his eyes furiously.

“_Always only ever to protect yourself and others, Aziraphale,_ he used to tell me.” Crowley thinks that those are very wise words. If only more humans followed that same rule, perhaps there would be less horrors in the world.

“I am rather decent with it.” Aziraphale says, looking up for a quick moment before averting his eyes again. “Anyways, one day, I was fourteen, a Caladrius entered our village. She was running, hoping to find shelter somewhere. You know what a Caladrius is, don’t you?”

“A creature of healing magics. A great white bird.” Crowley answers quietly. It seems like Aziraphale is calming down somewhat, as if telling this story he is so afraid will cause Crowley to hate him helps him clear his mind properly, to think of other things.

“Yes. Gabriel hid her in the temple, because she said she was being chased by people who claimed she had been hurting innocent people, when she had been trying to help people, and would not listen to her claims. The men chasing her found their way to us a few days later. Gabriel managed to keep her hidden until they left.”

“They were hunters?” Crowley asks quietly and Aziraphale nods.

“Yes. Rather abominable. Once they left, and she could wander freely, I sought her out before she could leave. I asked for her teachings, and she agreed. All of the healing magics I know, I learned from her. She stayed for years, and suddenly, suddenly the hunters returned with absolutely no forewarning. And they figured out that Gabriel had lied to them, and they were furious.” Aziraphale’s voice fades, eyes shining with new tears as he thinks back on that day.

“They- they… They struck him down, surrounded him, and when the Caladrius tried to save him, they k-killed her too. Made all of us watch. I-I had my sword, I thought that if I got the leader, just their leader, if I could just end him, just get revenge… I wanted it. So bad. And none of them saw me coming, and I had him, _I had him_!” Crowley tightens his hold on Aziraphale, keeps brushing his hand through his blonde curls. He doesn’t like hearing this, doesn’t like hearing gentle, kind Aziraphale talking about killing someone, even if that someone is a hunter, even if that someone is responsible for causing the blonde pain, even if they are the cause of the death of such a gentle creature as a Caladrius.

“I had him, pinned him to the ground, I could have ended it right there. I could have ended his evil right then.” Aziraphale breaks down again, fingers digging into Crowley’s arm suddenly. He’s trying to ground himself, trying to calm down enough to finish his tale, though Crowley is sorely tempted to tell him not to, that it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to tell the shapeshifter the end of it, but it’s obvious that the blonde needs to get this off of his chest, so the shapeshifter waits.

“I hesitated. I hesitated because I’ve never killed anyone, and Gabriel always said: To protect myself, or others. But Gabriel and the Caladrius were already dead, so what was the point? And then, there was pain in the back of my head, and I lost consciousness. When I woke up… I’m not travelling because I want to, I’m travelling because my village is destroyed.” Crowley exhales, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple.

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I’m sorry that happened to you, angel, I really am. But this cannot make me hate you.”

“What if I tell you… That-“ Aziraphale sniffs again, “that the man who slaughtered all of your nieces and nephews is the same man who destroyed my village?” Aziraphale doesn’t meet Crowley’s eyes, just drops his hands to wring them in his lap. For a long moment, Crowley is speechless. Truly, he had not expected such a twist, that Aziraphale had encountered the band of hunters from earlier.

“If only I had had the courage back then, your sister and niece would never have had to go through such a terror.”

Just a few feet away from them, Babylon lies clutching her daughter tightly to herself, eyes blown wide in fury.


	13. The Venom In Their Voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone hoping for good stuff: Sorry

Aziraphale keeps a distance between himself and Babylon, and the other blonde seems more than pleased with that. She doesn’t kick up a fuss when he moves in to heal her, but she doesn’t ever initiate a conversation with him. Now, Aziraphale doesn’t know that Babylon heard his story, so he believes it is simply her still being distrustful of him being a human. And he accepts that, how can he not? This woman has faced unimaginable cruelty at the hand of humans, how can he expect her to suddenly just up and trust him, carry on pleasant conversations and learning to know him simply because her brother speaks well of him? It’s not that easy.

But she does know, and the only reason she is not raging and yelling and screaming and tearing something apart is because of Crowley’s words to the blonde after the tale had been told.

“_Aziraphale...” The man in question flinches at the shapeshifter’s use of his name. He waits for Crowley to move away, for the redhead to tell him to leave, to never once come near him again, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, Crowley gently tilts Aziraphale’s chin, makes him look at him. There is no scorn, no anger, no hatred. Once Crowley is sure he’s got Aziraphale’s full attention, he carefully grabs the man’s hands. _

_“I can’t… I can’t hate you for being what attracted me to you in the first place. You’re not a killer, Aziraphale, you’re a healer. With these hands, you help people, save people, ease their pain, you never cause it, you don’t kill, and that… that is admirable, it’s praiseworthy. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have found Babylon and Tonya, if it wasn’t for you, I’d have suffered a whole lot more from that poisoned arrow. I love _who_ you are. Kind, loving, gentle, soothing. I love that. I love you.” _

Her brother loves this human, however foolish that is. And Babylon loves her brother, owes him a lot. So Babylon will let this farce go on until Crowley realizes how foolish this is. And once it’s over, she and Tonya will be there for him. There is just one flaw with her plan. The human had confessed their love to Crowley too. Babylon, even nearly blinded by anger, hatred and distrust as she is, can see that he is sincere. And it angers her so damn much. But Crowley is her brother, and she won’t be the one to ruin his happiness. She will just have to pick up the pieces.

“If it is your wish, I believe you’re well enough to travel now. I imagine you’ll… want to get away from here.” She resists the urge to glare at the man for the very obvious choice she will take, instead she nods stiffly. He dares a glance up at her.

“If… If it’s…” He’s struggling to find the words, and she is not feeling rather patient with him, and growls, causing him to startle a bit. “If it’s disconcerting for you to have me around, I’ll… I’ll leave.” Now that gets her attention. He appears to clearly be distressed by the thought, and she studies him for many moments, but to his credit he doesn’t squirm beneath her glare. This is her chance though, her chance to make the human go away on his own, to have _him_ break her brother’s heart, and not her. She wants him gone, and he just gave her the perfect opportunity.

“It’s presumptuous of me but… you suffered here. And I know of Crowley’s distrust. I’ve had it directed at me when I-“

“How did you meet Anthony?” She cuts him off and he blinks, because these are the very first word’s she’s ever spoken to him. Aziraphale stares at her, confused for a moment, before jumping at the chance to speak _with _this shapeshifter, and not just _to_ her.

“Oh I passed by the village he’s been guarding-“ Babylon’s brows raise, “after an attack they suffered. He had been struck by a poisoned arrow, and the villagers were worried, so they asked me to help him.”

“Anthony is resistant to poisons.” Babylon narrows her eyes at him, as if she doesn’t believe him, and Aziraphale frowns.

“Each and every one in existence?” Babylon regards him for a long moment. “His body was certainly fighting it better than I have seen anyone else do, but it was a slow process.” Babylon knows the humans have created many more types of poisons over the last few decades. Crowley, who never left his mountain, cannot possibly have built a tolerance and immunity to them without having experience with them. It’s only natural. So she accepts Aziraphale’s explanation and nods, a sign for him to keep going.

“Well, I extracted the poison and mended his shoulder back together. That’s truly the gist of it, really.” He tells her. Her orange eyes are like steel, and he can’t fault her for that.

“I don’t trust you.” The words are sharp but they don’t cut as deep as they could have, but Aziraphale nods, acknowledging her. He expects no less, and he would have expected more, if she had ever heard his story.

“And having you run loose will only endanger us. Until we are safe, I want you where I can see you.” Aziraphale feels immense relief, but tries not to let it show. “If you betray us, then I don’t care how close you and Anthony are, I will end you.” Her words sends a chill down his spine.

“I would never!” He says sincerely. While she may never trust him, he wants her to understand that he’d never do anything that might cause them any harm.

“You’ll have to forgive me for not believing you.” She sneers at him.

“No forgiveness needed. I don’t know what you’ve experienced.” He truly has no idea what the other blonde has gone through in her life, but he’s been told some tales about Crowley’s own experiences. Aziraphale still can’t quiet believe that despite all that pain and horror, Crowley can love him now. Babylon seems to be surprised before she glares again.

“He never told you his name, did he?” It’s meant to hurt, to make Aziraphale doubt and worry, to cause him to feel inferior. Crowley’s confession have assuaged that fear though. Babylon is just scared, not only just for herself and her daughter, but also for her brother. Babylon has a lot to lose, even now, and she is raw and hurting and she’ll probably never feel whole again. So Aziraphale musters his kindest smile.

“He told me his name is Crowley.”

“That’s not his given name, that’s his family name.”

“That might be true, but that was the name he requested to be called by, and so I will call him Crowley until he tells me otherwise.” The expression on Babylon’s face is a mix of surprise and shock, until it morphs into a twisted want to _want _to hate him and be angry with him. It’s such a sad thing.

The next day, in the cover of the dark in the early morning, before the sun rises, they’re moving with Babylon and Tonya on the horses. They move as quickly as they can. Crowley can see how Babylon tries so hard to glare at Aziraphale’s back, sees that she is conflicted, confused. This entire situation is unfathomable to her, and he can understand. It’s not so long ago he felt the same way. Because Aziraphale is the opposite of everything they know. He is a human who cares about people for _who _they are, not their species. But then again, the village Crowley lives near also knows what he is and doesn’t care. That’s where he’ll take them. Back to the mountains, in an area so sparsely populated hunter’s won’t come.

Crowley wants to tell Babylon to focus her energy on something else than trying to be angry and distrustful of Aziraphale, because there are other things she needs to do, like recover her strength.

“Are we headed back to the mountain?” Aziraphale asks and Crowley purses his lips, nodding.

“Yes, though we’ll be taking a bit of a detour.”

“Right. Say no more.” Aziraphale can feel Babylon glare into his back, but does his best to ignore it. This is nothing compared to if she’ll ever learn his story. She will never tolerate his presence then. The weeks pass as they travel, and while Babylon slowly goes from actively scowling at Aziraphale to mostly ignoring him again, Tonya on the other hand, is quite friendly and comfortable around the blonde man. Much to her mother’s dismay. And Crowley is keenly aware of Babylon’s distress. So one evening, after supper, Crowley asks Aziraphale to join him on a little stroll. The blonde agrees, wanting to get away from the hostility.

So they walk, and Aziraphale feels warmth swell in his chest when Crowley grabs his hand before they’re even out of sight. It’s reassuring, yet it also reminds Aziraphale of the very few touches they’ve shared. But he cannot complain, truly, because their situation doesn’t call for much free-time. Their journey doesn’t allow for touch, not really.

“You’re incredibly patient with Babylon. I want to thank you for that.” Crowley says quietly, and Aziraphale smiles tiredly.

“She’s been through a lot at the hands of my kind. I can’t fault her for her distrust.” Crowley squeezes Aziraphale’s hand in gratitude. Gratitude for Aziraphale’s infinite patience and understanding and kindness.

“While that is true, you’re not the cause of it all. You didn’t…” He scowls at the words that refuse to leave him. “You didn’t do any of it.” They continue walking in silence after that, until Aziraphale tugs on his hand.

“I might as well have.” And Crowley has heard him say this so many times and is sick of hearing it. And so, he pushes Aziraphale into a tree, pupils slit as he glares.

“I’ve had it with your stubborn stupidity!” Aziraphale’s eyes widen at the sudden aggression shown towards him by the redhead. “You can’t take the blame for every action of that bastard just because you didn’t end his pathetic existence. You can’t, nothing he’s ever done is on you. Stop being stubborn, stop regretting it. What happened, happened.”

“But-“

“Do you possess foresight? Could you ever see the future?”

“Well, no, but-“

“Then stop agonizing over it.” Crowley growls, crowding the blonde against the tree. “If I truly believed any of this is your fault, neither one of us would be here. Do you understand that?” Aziraphale looks like he wants to argue, before realizing it is a lost cause, and sags into Crowley, arms wrapped around his back.

“I’m sorry.” Sorry for bringing it up, sorry for making you worry, sorry that I can’t stop thinking it is my fault. All these reasons hang in the air, unspoken.

“Stop apologizing.” Crowley snaps, though there is no bite in his voice as he presses his nose into the blonde curls, breathing in the man’s scent. Then he pushes Aziraphale back far enough that he can lean down, and press his lips to the blonde’s.

“Crowley…”

“No?” Crowley asks, but Aziraphale pulls him closer. It’s just meant to comfort, to solidify Crowley’s claim to care deeply for the healer, but Crowley finds himself unable to pull away. Aziraphale clings to him, and Crowley finds his hand travelling underneath Aziraphale’s clothes, fingers wrapping around hard flesh. He whispers love and adoration in Aziraphale’s ear as he brings him to the height of pleasure, smiles at the other man’s whines, moans and Crowley’s name on his lips.

“Crowley.” A high whine escapes the blonde.

“That’s it, angel, you’re gorgeous and perfect.” Crowley says, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek, grinning as the blonde thrusts faster into his hand.

“You lovely, kind, gentle healer, who helped me overcome my fears and pain, you deserve only the best.”

“Crowley, no, I-“ Aziraphale begins to argue, because he doesn’t believe it himself, and tries to get his bearings together as he takes deep breaths. Crowley will have none of it.

“I love you.” He tells Aziraphale, a soft whisper against his temple. “I love you with all my heart.” And Aziraphale cries out, clinging to Crowley as he comes, knees buckling. Crowley carefully slides them down to the ground, placing soft kisses to Aziraphale’s forehead as the blonde tries to get his breathing under control.

“I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fooled you


	14. The Sanctuary In The Swamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is not taking them to his Home, he's taking them somewhere else.

Aziraphale never asked where they are going, but it seems like both Babylon and Crowley are in the know, and so he left it alone. He trusts Crowley. Though this half-forest, half-swamp they’re working their way through, oh Aziraphale finds it a tad bit spooky. Aziraphale is not a fan of spooky. Especially not the rustling going around, and the way it feels like he is being watched. But Crowley and Babylon seem to be more at ease here than they’ve been the entire journey, and so Aziraphale shrugs off the unease. Tonya mostly seems curious, as she looks around, short curls bouncing as she turns in he saddle. Suddenly, Crowley stops, and so Aziraphale follows suit, the horses coming to a halt.

“Why are we stopping?” He asks.

“Because we need permission to go any further.” Babylon answers, casting a glance around. It’s the very first time she doesn’t sound like she’s annoyed when she speaks to him. Small victories. So, there they stand for many long moments, before finally, one man emerges from the foliage. He’s got a shock of white hair, his skin looks dreadfully pale, almost sickly, but while he looks spindly and sickly, his eyes are fierce. And pitch black.

“You’ve got a lot of guts bringing a human here, Crowley.” And he sounds very hostile.

“Been a while, Hastur.” The blonde scoffs at Crowley’s nonchalant greeting.

“More than just a bloody while. Tell me why you brought a human here.” The man demands angrily, and Aziraphale holds back a sigh. This is how it’s going to be with everyone he meets that are close to, or know Crowley, isn’t it? What can he say in his defence that might help Crowley’s cause, whatever that might be? But before he can say anything, another one cuts in.

“Because he saved my life.” Babylon snaps, and Aziraphale turns around, shocked to be on the end of words not meant to be curt, snide or hurtful towards him.

“We’re being chased by hunters; he’s helped us stay low.” And Aziraphale is simply amazed by how this woman, who has suffered so much at the hands of humans and has treated him like he is the scum of the earth (quite understandably though), is suddenly defending him.

“It’s not the first time a human has-“ Hastur begins, clearly not convinced just yet that he should accept that a human is part of the party travelling into his domain. And finally Aziraphale is aware that they are surrounded by more people, that Hastur isn’t the only one here. They are all just hidden in the greenery around them. Even the animals around them might be part of the group watching them.

“He was taught by a Caladrius.” Babylon cuts him off. “You know the importance of that.” And now Aziraphale feels cold dread sink like a stone in his stomach at Babylon’s words. She knows. _She knows. _She knows the story, she knows that it is all Aziraphale’s fault. Her pain and loss is all Aziraphale’s fault.

“Ah fuck.” Hastur mutters, shaking his head, before motioning for them to follow. “Can’t argue with that. Come on then.” Aziraphale feels as if his feet are stuck in the ground, as if he has to fight to keep moving, until he feels a slight kick to his back. He turns and finds Babylon staring.

“Come on, keep moving. We don’t have time to dilly-dally.” And for the first time there’s no anger in her expression, just an impatience to get to safety. And it makes things a bit easier, even if his mind swirls with emotions and frenzied thoughts. Babylon knows, she knows, she knows! And the healer has never been more terrified.

“Focus, Aziraphale.” He startles at her voice, actually articulating his name. “You’re about to see something amazing.” They’re led further inside the forest-like swamp, and then they are being led inside an ominous looking cave. It’s the same as any other cave on the inside, but this Hastur stops by a wall and waits. There’s a loud rumble, and what little light there is disappears as the cave opening suddenly closes by some kind of magic. They stand in the darkness for a few moments before the cave wall they stand in front of them gives a faint glow. It casts a eerie light, and flickering shadows.

“Let’s go, then.” Hastur says, and melts into the wall, the others following.

“Come on, angel.” Crowley is suddenly there and grabs his hand, pulling him along as the redhead begins to melt through the wall as well. Holding his love’s hand helps Aziraphale calm down, helps him feel safe, even as he experiences the sensation of sinking through mud. It leaves him feeling cold and dirty, but a tug at his hand makes him look up, and a gasp escapes him. The place in which they’ve arrived is nothing short of gorgeous.

The trees are shaped like homes, tall and looming, and Aziraphale sees people working in fields, standing together, talking, children playing and shifting freely. It’s a small society, a town purely made up of shifters, it seems. And it looks lovely.

“You’re a whole lot bigger now, a whole lot more since I last was here.” Crowley says and Hastur grunts.

“It’s been some time since you last visited.”

“True. You seem to be doing good. Any trouble?”

“Only you lot.” Hastur rolls his eyes, but there’s no real bite to his words as he leads them further in. The people gathered there stop and stare at Aziraphale, and he ducks his head down to avoid the stares. Not even Crowley’s grip on his hand is very reassuring at this moment, no matter how the redhead squeezes his hand in an offer of encouragement, an effort to tell him that he isn’t alone, that it will be alright.

“Mam?” Tonya’s voice breaks through the air, and Aziraphale turns to see Babylon doubling over. He’s confused and worried, because he’s sure he did everything he could for Babylon to manage this journey without any hick-ups. So why is she-?

“I’m in need of your assistance!” She gasps out, clinging to the saddle, and the moment she asks, Aziraphale falls into his familiar role as a healer, and turns to Hastur.

“I need her to be comfortable, is there anywhere we can stay as I work?”

“Right, yeah, uh, hut at the end, follow me.” Just then Babylon falls off her horse, and Crowley just barely manages to catch her as she slips off the saddle.

“Mam!” Tonya cries out.

“Hurry, if you’d please!”

“This way, I said!” Hastur snaps, and they hurry down the path, Hastur leading them into a hut which seems so empty, but Aziraphale pushes the thought to the back of his mind. Right now, Babylon’s health is his priority. Crowley puts Babylon down on what resembles a bed, before he pulls a distraught Tonya with him.

“I want to stay with mam!”

“It’s just a stomach ache, sweetling.” Babylon says, trying to smile, and Tonya stills, staring at her mother for several moments before quietly leaving. Crowley follows, throwing an odd look at Tonya but doesn’t say anything as Aziraphale rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. His hands begin to glow as he lays his hands over her abdomen, trying to find where she’s hurting. It only takes him a few moments to realize that Babylon is, in fact, perfectly healthy, as he had surmised before they left the cave by that horrible town. He slowly pulls back,and looks up at Babylon who stares at him blankly. She faked it.

“Why-“

“I wanted to talk to you, alone.” Aziraphale gapes at her.

“B-by worrying everyone? You could have just asked.” He exclaims, and she raises a brow at him.

“Crowley and Tonya are worried.” He tries.

“Tonya knows.” Babylon says with a shrug.

“What?”

“She knows I was acting. That’s why she left quietly.” The blonde says as she pushes herself up into a sitting position.

“And what of Crowley?”

“Anthony will forgive me, once I tell him my reasons were that you were rather uncomfortable out there, and that I wished to clear the air.” Aziraphale watches her as she leans against the wall, her feet pulled up beneath her as she pats the space beside her. Aziraphale slowly sits down, unsure of what is happening.

“This was supposed to be my oldest sibling’s home. Did Anthony ever tell you anything about our family?” Babylon reckons that Crowley has, indeed, told Aziraphale about some of them, especially considering he let Aziraphale tag along for as long as he has.

“He told me a little about you, and about Beelzebub.” Aziraphale admits, and Babylon nods, as a wistful smile graces her face.

“Beelzebub, yes. This home was theirs. Hastur made it for them, right up before they died.” She turns her head around, but there’s not much to look at, it’s all rather sparse, barren. Then again, there’s not been a single person living in this house for nearly a hundred years. They barely managed to step foot inside before it happened, after all.

“I want to apologize.”

“For what?” She gives him a look, and he wiggles uncomfortably, feeling like he’s being stupid about something.

“I have treated you horribly, without cause.” Babylon says slowly, as if she’s spelling it out for him.

“You’ve had plenty cause.” Aziraphale mutters. Babylon knows, she learned his story, she knows that his cowardice caused the entire predicament she finds herself in. She’s had every right to treat him the way she has, and they both know it.

“Not against you. You’ve never done anything to harm me, or mine. You saved Anthony, you saved me. All you’ve ever done is help. And so, I want to apologize for my behaviour.” Babylon says, looking regretful.

“I understand why you were so distrustful. My kind has not been good to you, and… You know why I am travelling.” Babylon nods quietly. “So it’s understandable that you were angry with me. After all, if I wasn’t such a coward-“

“Stop.” Even if Babylon’s voice isn’t angry or aggressive, Aziraphale clamps his mouth shut. Somehow, it still feels far much heavier on him than Crowley’s snapping had.

“You can’t seriously believe the stupid drivel you’re saying, can you?” Her words aren’t angry, but blunt, to the point. The woman certainly doesn’t beat around the bush.

“Are you going to take responsibility for everyone that man has hurt? There’s nothing to gain from that. If you had killed him, someone else might have done this to us. Not killing someone isn’t cowardly, and there’s no use dwelling on the past. I’d rather judge you on your actions now. And you were trained by a Caladrius, so it’s a given…”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asks, curious. That Hastur fellow had seemed very furious that Aziraphale had been brought along, until he heard that Aziraphale have been trained by a Caladrius. Whatever does that mean? It’s no secret what a Caladrius is, one of the strongest healing creatures in existence, but what does it mean, to be taught by one? There’s no importance to it amongst humans, but it certainly seems to mean a lot in the supernatural community.

“You truly do not know?”

“Know what?” Obviously, he does not know, he would not be asking if he did. Babylon regards him for many moments before speaking again.

“Too much medicine can become poison, and it’s the very same with healing magic. Too much is harmful. Why do you think a Caladrius, a creature who can supply you with so much healing, is so easily slain?” Aziraphale shakes his head.

“Because it goes against their very nature, they can’t harm others, and so, they only ever take on apprentices who share that same trait.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Caladrius saw that you’re the same as them. They sensed that you are someone who cannot kill. That’s why any supernatural creature will accept any human who’s been with a Caladrius.”

“You mean… They weren’t angry about me being here? The people outside?”

“Once Hastur’s told them you’ve been taught by a Caladrius, they’ll welcome you with open arms.” Babylon shrugs, and Aziraphale frowns, not quite able to believe it.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” It seems too good to be true. And why would they automatically accept a human when they have suffered at the hands of humans, just because of who their teacher has been?

“And you? I can’t believe-“

“Anthony trusts you. He loves you, and right now, that’s good enough for me. You’ve accommodated me the best you could during this entire journey, you’ve proven you’re good.”

“Truly? Do you feel comfortable around me?” The blonde shifter pauses, looking down for a moment, before looking Aziraphale in the eye.

“I’m… it hurts, and it’ll never stop hurting. But it’s not your doing, and I know that. I know you’re good, but to be honest I’ll… if I lash out, know that I don’t mean to. I know I can trust you, but the pain is so raw still, I mean, it has yet to even be a year since it happened.”

“Ada, Tacita, Otho and Elm.” Her eyes widen, and Aziraphale worries that he crossed a line as sunset orbs swim with tears, but Babylon nods.

“Yes. Ada, Tacita, Otho and Elm, my younglings.” She whispers.

“Do you want to… tell me about them?” Aziraphale asks hesitantly.

“If you know their names, you know what happened.” Babylon says, swiping a hand over her eyes in an attempt to rid herself of her tears before they fall.

“I want to know what they were like, if you want to tell me.” And it seems like Babylon realizes that she has never told anyone how her children were like, but more about how… how they met their end.

“Ada…” She begins, drawing a shuddering breath. “Ada was the oldest. She always shouldered the responsibility for the others, watching over them when I was out. She kept them all out of trouble. Tacita, she was always so quiet, relying more on her body language than a verbal one, she liked… She liked turning into reptiles. I think she and Anthony would have gotten along so well, and I wish they could have met.” She says with a small smile and sniffle. Aziraphale sits quietly, just showing her that he listens, but nothing more.

“Otho, he liked to play rough. I always could tell where he was, because he was so loud. A real troublemaker, that one, but so sweet at heart. Elm, he was like Anthony, he was more comfortable with plant life, good with growing the greenery around him. He almost enjoyed that way more than he did shapeshifting. He-“ Her voice cracks- “he used to make me flower crowns.”

She can’t quite hold back the sob that fights its way out of her, and automatically, Aziraphale reaches out for her, only to pause. Just because Babylon told him about her children, it doesn’t mean she’ll accept comfort from him, but then she leans into him, and he holds her as she cries. Aziraphale wonders if she ever, during her journey to get here, to get herself and Tonya to safety and to find Crowley, allowed herself or managed to find the time to properly mourn her loss. Most likely not. So he holds her, lets her cry and seek comfort for as long as she needs it. They sit there for what feels like hours, before finally the woman pulls away.

“My apologies.” Babylon wipes the last of her tears away. She appears a bit lighter, as if a great weight has been removed from her shoulders.

“Don’t apologize. You needed that, and now you could afford to get it out.”

“Thank you. I _did_ need that. And, I want you to know, I never truly blamed you. I knew this place existed, I knew I was welcome here. I just… never dared the journey when I carried them, and not when they were so young. And now, all I have left is Tonya. The fault… the fault is entirely mine alone, and that… you cannot fathom, Aziraphale, the feeling. It is indescribable.”

“No one can imagine something so horrible happening to themselves.” He tries to soothe her, but it only makes her seem more guilt stricken.

“I should have, because it did happen to my family before. Why I thought I could do better than my own mother, I don’t know. I should have been prepared.” Babylon looks so vulnerable, a look he hasn’t seen on her since Crowley brought her out of her prison, and to the cave they had sought shelter in. Aziraphale finds that he does not find the appearance of vulnerability flattering on the blonde shapeshifter.

“Babylon, if I might.” Aziraphale finds himself very emboldened by this interaction, and waits for Babylon to look at him properly. “If I shouldn’t blame myself, then neither should you.” And she stares at him for a moment before chuckling weakly.

“What a pair we are.” He silently agrees. “I understand why Anthony loves you.” And now Aziraphale just blinks, wide-eyed.

“You’re good, and you’re kind, you have this aura around you, a presence that makes one feel cared about.”

“I do?” The healer has never once thought of himself like that, or that his presence alone could make people feel at ease, but that is a good thing, either way. At least patients will feel safe around him.

“Yes. So, please, stay with him, love him. Anthony needs someone like you.” Aziraphale smiles then. It’s good to know that Babylon accepts his relationship with her brother, encourages it even. It’s a relief to know that he isn’t getting between two close siblings.

“I need him just as much.” He says quietly and is pleasantly surprised by the hand squeezing his shoulder in encouragement. It’s comforting.

“We’d best get out of here.” Babylon says. “I doubt Tonya told Anthony I am actually alright.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale agrees, standing up. “Let’s go.” But before they leave the room Babylon grimaces and he asks her what’s wrong.

“I am in for a lecture, I just know it. I am going to feel like a child.”

“Well, better to feel young again, than an old maid, I guess?” The look she shoots the blonde healer is not one of amusement, but Aziraphale smothers his chuckles anyhow.


	15. The Poisons In The Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley normally likes being right. Just not this time

The whole point of reaching this sanctuary was to have a safe place to hide Babylon and Tonya, while Crowley went out to scout, to make sure that they weren’t followed to this place. Or, if they were, to get rid of the pursuers. Hastur would gladly join in that venture, Crowley knows that, even counted on it. He is not disappointed, as he and several others scout the swamp-like forest. There is no sight of any hunters yet, but Crowley isn’t sure about leaving the forest just yet with his loved ones. Not until he is a hundred percent sure, and right now, he is not.

“Why leave at all?” Hastur asks as he moves slowly towards a spot which had rustled. “As much as I dislike your smug face, there is not safer place than this for our kind.” He carefully prods the bush, and a rabbit runs out, disappearing further down the path. Both men lower shoulders they didn’t even realize were high and tense.

“Why thank you.” Crowley rolls his eyes at Hastur’s hospitable words. “But the mountains I’ve been living in are pretty safe too.” He boasts. Also, they are his, with his cave, his pond, his garden. His bloody garden. It better be in tiptop shape when he returns, or else it’ll go through hell.

“How so?” Hastur asks, honestly curious, and not to mock him. It’s a pleasant surprise, if there truly is a place outside the sanctuary he’s helped build for such a long time anywhere else in the world. Pleasant surprises don’t happen often though, so he doesn’t, in all honesty, have much hope. 

“No hunter’s come there for the last one hundred years. Can you say the same?” Crowley asks, because it’s true. It’s so far from proper civilization that no hunter bothers to traverse the winding paths up to the mountain village, and further up to his caves.

“No, but we’ve never been found either. The magic barrier is strong, and humans spread like flees. Soon enough, your mountains won’t be safe anymore either.” It’s a harsh truth, but while there’s no malice in Hastur’s voice, Crowley still can’t quite stop himself from snapping back.

“Nor your sanctuary.” Yet the truth of Crowley’s own words makes it all fall rather flat. It’s not something either of them wants. Crowley almost regrets saying it, if it isn’t for Hastur’s calm and level-headed reply.

“Maybe. But I reckon it’ll last a little longer than your mountains.” Crowley believes that too. The powerful barrier-magic keeping the sanctuary safe is a combined effort of several people. Neither Crowley nor Babylon have any skills with barrier magics. Hastur is right, the mountains won’t stay safe for long, because humans spread like wildfire, and soon enough, there will be no safe place to hide anymore. But he’s known that for quite some time already. It’s not like he’s been completely naïve in his secluded spot in the mountains, but travelling to this place has made it all the more real to him. This sanctuary has lasted for so long without any mishaps, but for how long will that last, truly? Perhaps Crowley himself will have brought great misfortune on this place by bringing Babylon, Tonya and Aziraphale here.

It’s not a thought that inspires great comfort. What Crowley can hope for is that he and his loved ones are either long gone before that happens, or that by some incredible miracle, humans and shapeshifters have learned to coexist. And by that, Crowley means that humans might stop hunting and hating shapeshifters.

Hell will freeze over before that happens though.

“Bloody hell, we’ve been sweeping the area for over a week, Crowley. If they were following you, they would have caught up by now. You’ve shaken off the trail.” Hastur exclaims, swiping his arms out.

“You’re safe, stop worrying about it.”

“I am worrying about it.” Crowley snaps. “You didn’t see how Babylon was when I found her. They were torturing her just to find the location of Tonya, one single, harmless little shapeshifter child, instead of just outright ending her. They’re relentless, of that I’m sure. They followed. We stayed in a cave while she recovered, because I knew they knew she couldn’t have gotten far, but enough time has passed now for them to realize we could have run.”

“You’re being too cautious.” Hastur scoffs. “You never were like this in the past.”

“_I wish I was_.” And the implications of Crowley’s words, the heavy reminder of what has happened before due to Crowley’s recklessness causes Hastur to pause. Memories neither wants to revisit lurk at the edge of their minds before they shake them off.

“Fine.” The white-haired shapeshifter says, and they continue their scouting. They themselves do not come across anyone or anything suspicious, but there is suddenly a screech from above, and they both look up.

“Who’s that?” Crowley asks and Hastur squints.

“A red, green and blue parrot… that’s Tracy.” He waves his hand and the bird circles them, before flying off in the direction it came from. Hastur mutters something that probably is very offensive, before he starts to follow the parrot’s path, and Crowley him. They find a group huddled in the highest tree branches, and join them there, looking down. Crowley grinds his teeth to keep the hiss from escaping him. From Aziraphale, Babylon and Tonya’s descriptions… these are the people. These are the men, a party of twenty-five hunters.

Crowley wants to strangle each and every one of them, fill them with venom and watch them writhe and struggle on the ground, fight for breath, watch their skin turn red, purple, as they struggle to breathe, and finally ashen grey as their lives end. He wants to coil around them and crush their bones into powder, hear them scream in agony and fear that they themselves have caused innocents to feel and do. He wants to cause them as much pain, fear and trauma that they’ve forced his sister and last living niece to go through.

But he can’t, because he’s not alone in this venture. There’s a lot to lose, because if he acts irrationally, then he’s not only endangering himself, but the entire group out with him. In a worst-case scenario, the whole sanctuary might be in danger, and with these thoughts in mind, he tempers himself, but nods to Hastur when the man inclines his head to the party beneath them. The tension that was already there heightens, and Hastur mutters to Tracy the parrot, who immediately takes off. The humans below look up, but they do not chase the parrot as she flies by them. The party in the trees wait until the humans have walked beyond their range before Hastur gives out orders.

“Dagon, Ligur, keep on their trail until we figure out how to deal with them.”

“We all know how we’re going to deal with them.” Ligur mutters and Hastur nods.

“This lot, yeah, but we need a plan. And until then, only those who can fly will enter and leave the sanctuary. By no means must we allow them to find the way inside, you all got that?” There’s a collective nod of heads, and Crowley frowns. Like this, he can’t go back to see Babylon, Tonya or Aziraphale again, not until this is over. The only good part is that if he’s gauging Ligur’s words correctly, these humans will never, ever again, cause any of his kind any harm.

And, well, Crowley can live with that.

“So, Hastur, what’s your plan?”

* * *

Babylon can’t quite shake the thought that something is wrong, and it causes her enough distraction that she fails at what she promised Aziraphale she would do; help him should he be surrounded by the inhabitants in the community and dragged off.

“Ah, er, Babylon? Babylon?” She blinks and shakes her head, turning around to see the blonde healer be pulled away by a chattering woman who seems very interested in learning about a human who was taught by one of the greatest healing creatures there are out there, babbling on about everything and nothing.

“Right, sorry.” Babylon grabs Aziraphale’s arm and yanks him back. “We have to be careful with this one, you know.” She tells the woman in hushed tones and Aziraphale sighs with relief at being saved from a situation he found somewhat uncomfortable.

“Fragile thing, you see.” And the words have Aziraphale bristling with offence.

“Fragile?” His voice pitches high, but Babylon ignores him and the other woman laughs.

“I see, I see. Well, once your brother returns, why don’t you come eat supper at our place? It’s been quite some time since we had a new face around here-“ There’s the screech of a bird above them all, and everyone looks up, seeing a colourful parrot fly in a circle above them, before descending, turning back into Tracy just before she lands on the ground. She’s immediately surrounded, and she carries news with her that makes Babylon shake to her very bones, and Tonya to start crying. Immediately the blonde lifts her daughter and holds her close, and there’s a murmur through the crowd.

Aziraphale worries that they’ll have to leave, now that they seem to have brought the hunters with them, but then the woman who had tried to pull him along claps her hands to gain everyone’s attention.

“Alright, you all know the laws. No going in our out through the cave, only shifters who can fly are allowed to come and go as they want, and no, that does not mean you younglings!” She points at a group of children who are already half-way through a transformation, feathers sprouting from their backs and arms, and they turn back, pouting.

“This is not a game.” The woman says, propping her hands on her hips. “It’s quite dangerous, and we all have to stay inside, while the ones outside take care of the threat.” It dawns on Aziraphale that Crowley is outside, and he is not a flying-type of shapeshifter. He can’t come back in while those hunters are out there in the woods. He is out there _with _the humans, and Aziraphale knows first-hand how ruthless they are, especially their leader. If they could easily destroy a human village just because one of them hid a supernatural being away from them, there’s truly no boundaries for the damage they can cause to a place like this, and that is the most terrifying thought Aziraphale cannot shake from his mind. He wants to go out there, to find Crowley and keep him from harm, but that is why Crowley left all of them in here, isn’t it? To keep _them_ from harm. And now he can’t come back in, because the entrance must stay hidden, to keep this place safe. Aziraphale wonders how they will deal with the intruders outside, what the group of shapeshifters will do to the hunters? Aziraphale isn’t so naïve that he thinks that this outcome will have a happy ending for everyone. Someone is bound to lose someone; people are bound to get hurt.

Is Aziraphale a horrible person for wanting only the hunters to lose everything?

“Aziraphale.” He jumps as Babylon’s hand grabs his, grip so tight it actually hurts a bit, and he turns his attention on her. She’s so pale, and shivering and sweating and she looks like she’s torn between breaking down and running as far as her legs can carry her.

“Don’t worry, my dear, they cannot get in here-“

“Anthony is out there!” And he knows, he does, and he is worried too, but he has to stay positive.

“Crowley will be fine, he’s strong and clever and he’s not alone out there. They’ll be fine.” He knows his words fall on deaf ears, because they don’t sound all that reassuring to himself either, but what else can he say? Everything else sounds just bad and desperate and- Aziraphale takes a deep breath before he makes Babylon look at him. Her sunset orbs are terrified, memories of pain and tragedy clouding her mind, he can see it, and so he tries his very best to sound sure, absolutely sure, believing in his own words.

“Crowley will be fine! He is out there because he knew we were followed, and he has allies, he’s not alone. He will protect you, and he will return, because he promised us that.” There’s still terror in her eyes, but at least Babylon’s shaking is dying down, and she nods.

Crowley is not a defenceless child. He hasn’t lived for as long as he has, survived all his scars without having been able to fight back. Her brother is a crafty shifter, he’ll keep himself out of trouble. Or rather, he’ll keep himself alive. Babylon remembers a time when she stood beside her siblings whenever they were caught in a situation demanding they fight, she remembers standing back to back with them, shouting and yelling and talons sinking into flesh, wings beating and lifting her body off the ground, either pulling others to safety or tossing humans high in the air. She remembers being brave, she remembers feeling safe as long as she was with them.

Babylon feels none of those things now.

She doesn’t feel brave, she doesn’t feel safe, but she has to be, because Tonya is looking up at her, crying and scared herself, and Aziraphale looks so assured, so sure that everything is going to be alright, so she swallows and nods. She doesn’t share all of Aziraphale’s optimism, but she needs to be brave for Tonya, at least on the outside. The girl needs to feel that her mother believes that everything will be fine.

“It’s alright, sweetling.” She presses a kiss to Tonya’s forehead, her own shaking calming down briefly.

“Anthony will be fine, and the humans will go away forever.”

* * *

Crowley narrows his eyes as the humans stand outside the very cave leading to the sanctuary. Without any magic to repel barriers, they won’t find anything, but Crowley isn’t too knowledgeable about their abilities, only that they managed to catch Babylon off guard, and are fully capable of killing anyone they come across, without any remorse. They talk for a bit, before moving on.

_‘That’s right, keep moving.’_ He thinks, fangs lengthening as scales start to pop out on his skin. He doesn’t even know he’s started to pull himself forward out of hiding before a hand clamp down on his shoulder, yanking him back. Hastur growls behind him, eyes shifting.

“Stay down, idiot.” He snaps quietly, and Crowley hisses.

“Sorry, I just want to-“

“I know you do, we all do. But we got to be smart about it.” Hastur insists, and Crowley knows he’s right, but by anything good and holy in this world, Crowley wants to sink his fangs into them and pump them full of venom. It seems Hastur is of the same mind, as his own skin is shimmering with wetness Crowley knows better than to touch. Suddenly, there’s a slight rustle behind them, and both turn to see Ligur there.

“Tracy came back. Everyone on the other side are keeping to the rules, the entrance is sealed, and no one is coming in or out.” He says, and Hastur nods.

“Right. Let’s gather everyone and make our plan.” Ligur nods and moves back, Hastur and Crowley following him until they find everyone else, with the exception of Tracy, who’s on the lookout for the hunters, keeping track of their movements as the rest of them come up with a plan. Turns out, quite a lot of the ones outside shapeshift into the more poisonous and venomous variety, and that might make it easier for all of them to get rid of the hunters without it turning into a fight. Not that they think they’ll lose if it turns out to become a fight, but they stand a better chance of avoiding causalities if they keep to taking them all one by one. It’s the safest route, and that is indeed how they go about it. They make a route to lure the hunters through, assigns people posts throughout the woods in which they will target a hunter.

No mercy, they agree. The hunters would show them none either. And so they move out.

Hastur is out first. He’s the leader of the group, he will take the first and gauge the humans’ reactions. Either the hunters will understand that they themselves are the prey now, or they will be confused and scared. Hopefully, it will be the latter. He transforms into a small frog, and Crowley remembers a time when he almost swallowed him when he was of a less poisonous variety, before he knew him. They never got off on the right foot, but it’s mellowed out a bit after some time. This time, Hastur is a vividly yellow and red frog hopping about, rather small, but the colours stand out brightly against greens around him. One of the hunters notices the small frog, and having clearly never seen such a colourful tiny creature, he foolishly moves closer and crouches down, tilting his head at the creature. Then he grabs it and holds it up, for all of ten seconds before dropping the frog, crying out. Hastur hops away, quickly disappearing into the bushes as the man falls over, quickly loosing colour and gasping for breath. His comrades are upon him in the matter of moments, but it is too late. Hastur’s poison is potent and quick, and the man is dead.

There’s a quiet murmur of shock and dissent in the group, but they leave their fallen friend and continue on. And the shapeshifters continue their slow and quiet assault, and it goes well, the hunters seem to not catch onto what is happening. Even Crowley manages to keep his cool as he, hidden in the tall grass, sinks his fangs into a man’s ankle and just as quickly slithers off before anyone can find him. It’s not the man he wants, he sees as he finds himself a safe place to perch and watch, but he tells himself that the end result is all that matters. And it all goes well.

Until it doesn’t.

* * *

It’s a rather normal day inside the sanctuary, despite everything. It’s been three days since Tracy returned with the message of the hunters having entered the forest, and not a single shapeshifter has left the sanctuary since that day either. Babylon feels all the better for being in a safe place, a place where the hunters can’t find them, and she has been able to process the whole situation properly. She is still afraid, still she feels like her legs don’t have the strength to carry her properly, but Aziraphale is there, and that is more than what she’s had for quite some time. Someone to rely on, someone to speak to and lean on when things get quite tough. But so far, things are going alright, aren’t they? Tracy flies back and forth, tells them of what is happening, the slow success of the group outside, that the hunters suspect nothing yet, and are slowly becoming a smaller and smaller group.

They’ll disappear out of this world, none the wiser of their mistake. The mistake was entering this area.

She can still remember that room, the room which she had been helpless in, hung by chains and pain delivered at a steady schedule every day, even long into the night. A room in which she had been rendered completely helpless in. When she wakes up that morning, she feels sick. She feels small and weak and _sick_ _to her stomach._ Aziraphale whips up something light and easy for her when she voices this, and despite her absolute lack of appetite she eats it. She feels only slightly better, and Tonya, brave little Tonya, does her very best to hide her own worries and stress over the entire situation. And Babylon tells her that it’s okay to be afraid, but to keep on hoping it will be okay.

“I want to fight too.” The girl says quietly, and Babylon makes her look at her, a sharp look in her eyes.

“You don’t know what it means to fight, so no, you do not want to fight too. Children should stay where it’s safe!” And the girl’s lip wobbles and Babylon realizes that her tone is far too sharp, harsh, for the little girl right now in this situation they are finding themselves in and she pulls the girl close.

“I’m sorry.” She says, brushing a hand through those short blonde curls. “I just… if you don’t have to fight, then don’t. You’re just a little girl, you shouldn’t have to do any fighting, you should be able to trust us adults to protect you. When it was just the two of us, you were so brave, Anthony told me all about it, how he was able to find me with your help, and now, now you still try, but it’s okay to be scared, and we’re not alone anymore.” The emotional burden they carry, it’s not Tonya’s responsibility to manage it for the both of them, it’s Babylon’s, and the child must realize this soon. Always strong, her little Tonya, braver and tougher than everyone gives her credit for.

“But uncle Anthony is.”

“No, no he isn’t. He’s not alone out there, he’s together with several strong shifters. He’ll be fine.” Tonya nods, biting her lip anxiously, and Babylon sighs, pulling her close again.

“You look so tired, how about a nap?” The girl shakes her head, just holding onto her mother tightly.

“I miss everyone.” She mutters quietly, and Babylon nods. “I miss everyone too.”

“This isn’t home.” No, no it is not, but it is the safest place in the world for them, probably the only safe place that will ever come to exist. It’s perhaps a place they will have to learn to call home.

“What about that place uncle Anthony talked about? A place with mountains? There aren’t any mountains here, so this isn’t it, is it?” No, it isn’t, but Crowley never told her more about said place, only told her he would bring them all here for safety first, and then, once they were truly safe from this band of hunters, he would bring them somewhere else. But she doesn’t know where this other place is, only that it is remote. The children he spoke of, they must be human, and Babylon isn’t so sure she wants that, despite knowing full well that not all humans are evil and cruel.

“Mam?” Babylon blinks, looks down at Tonya. “Can we take a walk?” There is no reason to refuse, so they do. They walk, they enjoy the sun-rays fighting to pierce the clouds, and Tonya, after some time, participates in the games the other shapeshifter children are playing. It’s heartening to see her being able to play with others, even in this situation. Perhaps it is the easy atmosphere that they are surrounded with, because even though they are having hunters running around in the forest their sanctuary is located in, the people appear to be very relaxed. It most likely isn’t the first time this has happened, and they must have faith in the group outside taking care of the danger.

_‘I think-‘_

There’s the sound of wings flapping, and then Tracy crash-lands onto the ground not far from the blonde, who jumps startled, nearly freezing in place at the sight of the bolt in the redhead’s arm.

“Tracy!” She hears someone yell, and Babylon finds herself just staring at the woman in fright, even as Aziraphale runs past her, even as Tonya runs up and grabs her, shivers beside her as the memories come flooding back. Babylon doesn’t see Tracy right now, she sees her own children.

The world narrows down, and Babylon can’t breathe.

* * *

**“**Fuck.” Crowley growls to himself as he ties a tourniquet above Ligur’s shin. The shapeshifter was cut across his shin and received a blow to the head, losing consciousness, and the bleeding is rather hard to stop when you don’t actually have the proper means to do so. Their proceedings had gone so well, a bit _too _well, but who cares when all you’ve got on your mind is to eliminate the threat to your safety? They hadn’t, and it seems like the last four people are going to be a bit harder to get rid of, especially their leader. Crowley just wants their leader, most of all he wants their _bloody leader_. The redhead looks around himself. So far, they’re safe in their hiding spot, but he can’t leave Ligur alone here, that’s too dangerous. That’s the same thing as stabbing the man to death himself. But like this, Crowley is also cut off from the rest, he doesn’t know what’s going on out there-

There’s a scream of pain, and a man falls through the leaves and branches, landing close to Crowley, who turns his hands into razor sharp claws just in case, but it’s a human who clutches as his throat, gasps for breath, before falling still, with Dagon right behind, blood trailing down her forehead.

“Dagon, shit, you scared me.”

“Got no time for your dramatics now, Crowley. We need to move.” She snaps and Crowley nods, hoisting Ligur over his shoulder and following the other shapeshifter as she keeps a lookout for them.

“You seen Hastur?”

“Lost him a while back.” Dagon mutters, pausing to make sure they’re not being tracked before moving on. “The plan’s gone to shit, so it’s all about getting the injured to a safe place and getting rid of the last bastards.” She tells him, and Crowley nods, shifting his grip on Ligur. There are at least three ones left, as Dagon just disposed of one of the last four. Without meeting up with the others, Crowley has no way of knowing their situation, and right now he really does not want to be in the unknown.

“There’s still more of us than them, and you know the forest better than anyone. If we’re careful-“

“Careful, that’s right. They aren’t getting away from here, not after what they did to your family, and for having the gall to come here.” Dagon snaps, before pausing and holding her hand up. Crowley freezes in place, waiting, straining his ears for any movement around them. Then a human burst out, weapon raised and falling down, but Dagon sidesteps and shoves the human to the ground face-first and Crowley sees her hands change colour and the man starts screaming. Dagon’s poison isn’t quick, but it’s potent and very, _very _painful. But Crowley sees what Dagon cannot, because her back is turned, and from behind her, from where the man she’s holding down emerged, there stands their leader.

With a crossbow.

“Dagon!” The female shifter looks up, and turns around quickly, only to have the bolt embed itself in her shoulder. She falls back with a shriek of pain and anger, and the leader leaps forward with a sword, only to fall back as Crowley does a quick half-shift and swipes his tail out, hitting the man in the chest and having him fall backwards. Unfortunately, in his haste, Crowley doesn’t manage to harden his scales, and the sword’s edge drags across his scales and he hisses as he pulls himself towards Dagon, whose hand has wrapped around the bolt in her shoulder, ready to pull.

“Don’t-“

“It needs to get out-“

“But we need to get you to safety first, you’ll fucking bleed out.” But before anything can be done, the man leaps out again, sword at the ready, and Crowley changes enough that his whole body is covered in protective scales now, and his hands have grown big, long and clawed and he shares a look with Dagon, who nods as she sits up and drags herself over to Ligur, and Crowley does what he can. He surges forward and slams into the human, sending him falling back again, following and dragging the man as far away as he can manage. They stumble and writhe in a mess of human limbs and an enormous tail, and end up in a clearing, and the man tears free from Crowley’s grip. The shapeshifter makes sure to hide his wounded tail as he pushes himself up to stand rather tall over the human. It’s a useless effort in intimidating the man but considering how the man is armed with a crossbow and a sword, Crowley doubts he is very scary right now.

“You’re the last one, human. You’ve lost.” He snarls, and the man narrows his eyes.

“As long as I manage to get one more of you with me, that’s fine enough for me.” Crowley curls his lips in disgust, coiling forward.

“I never mentioned letting you go out of mercy. After what you did to my sister and her young, _your days were numbered, human!_”

“The world will be better off without monsters like you!”

“I have heard that one before. Tell me, human, have you ever witnessed a shapeshifter do anything you all think we do to you?” There’s a pause in the man’s movements, and Crowley throws more wood on the fire.

“I certainly have never heard of any of mine slaughtering an entire village of my own kind just because the priest there hid a supernatural creature from them.” The man’s eyes widen, before he snarls and surges forward. Crowley is ready for him and dodges, his huge body slithering around the man as he shoves him to the ground. The man rolls over and aims his crossbow, firing a bolt. Crowley ducks, and the bolt disappears behind him. The crossbow is a slow weapon to reload, so the human tosses it away, using his sword to keep Crowley’s claws at bay and away from himself. He’s partly successful, but Crowley’s claws are long, and the closer the shapeshifter presses, the closer he is to stabbing the man.

This is it, Crowley has him, _he finally has the piece of shit_. And then the man smirks, and shoves Crowley aside, and the shapeshifter, in his massive shape, cannot stop himself fast enough, can’t quite turn around fast enough to stop the man from darting past him, and slam the butt of the hilt of his sword into the wounded part of Crowley’s tail. The redhead screams, trashing around, and even as he tries to fight it, to stop it from happening, he can’t. He writhes on the ground as he is forced back into his human shape, and the human watches with a satisfied smirk as Crowley turns back, hands fisting in the grass as he tries to get his breathing back under control.

“That’s just the way it is with you shapeshifters. You’re too dependent on your powers, you don’t realize how your own animal forms work against you.” Crowley turns onto his back and hauls himself backwards. He knows he won’t get away, he knows that right now he is as vulnerable as a new born faun, but it’s an instinct he can’t shake, a survival instinct that has taken control of him and forces his body to move, no matter how much pain he is in. He won’t get away, the slow saunter of the hunter is quicker than Crowley’s crawling.

_‘I fucked up.’_ Crowley thinks as the man stomps down on his chest, forcing the air from his lungs and leaving the shapeshifter clawing at his leg with blunt human nails as he gasps for breath.

“And I will find her, I will. Her and that little hell beast of a brat she carries around. I will find them both and show them your corpse, just like I showed her the remains of her other spawn.” He sneers and lifts his sword. The anger Crowley feels at the man’s words pales at the fear of the action he’s about to take, and the redhead squints up, trying to appear defiant, trying to not let the man see the fear in his eyes and then there is a sound in which Crowley picks up on, a familiar sound, but it seems the human has yet to notice.

“If you’re here, they can’t be too far off…” The human trails off, finally also noticing the sound, and looks around, seeing nothing, except a shadow on the ground. He looks up, squinting against the sun which have finally come clear of clouds. Crowley sees what it is before the human does, but the human is quick on the uptake and sprints away from Crowley, who turns onto his stomach and heaves for breath, staring after the man as he dives for his crossbow and struggles to reload it.

He’s not fast enough. He turns, ready to fire, but great talons have already dug deep into his shoulders and he screams, grappling with them for a brief second before he’s carried off high into the air. Crowley stares after, unable to see who it is that came to his rescue, only knowing that it must be someone from inside the sanctuary, because none of the ones outside in the original group, except for Tracy, are flying types. The scream grows faint, before louder again, and suddenly, the human crashes upon the ground, more than just one sickening crack sounding from him as he lands. He lies quiet afterwards, eyes staring unseeing into the air.

And then Crowley’s saviour lands before him.

* * *

Aziraphale waits anxiously, waits for the barrier to fall down temporarily so he can see the returning warriors who stopped human hunters from finding their sanctuary. He’s already been told that several in the group are badly wounded and in need of medical attendance, but luckily he is not the only one with knowledge on healing magics in this place, and therefore it will not all fall on him to save everyone. A majority of the people stand waiting with him, ready to help those in need of it. Finally, the rock starts glowing and warping, and the little hand holding tightly onto his squeezes. He squeezes back.

The first to come through is Hastur, with a limping Ligur on one arm, and Dagon leaning against his other side, pale and sweating, the cross bolt still lodged in her shoulder. Several others with minor limps and injuries follow after, and then, finally, Babylon walks through, Crowley’s arm slung over her shoulder as she supports most of his weight as he limps in after the rest of the group. Aziraphale’s breath hitches at the sight of all those bruises and cuts over Crowley’s upper body, the cut near his eye, uncomfortably close, the badly wrapped leg of his which he’s almost dragging behind him.

Tonya runs forward first, Aziraphale close behind, and she wraps her arms around her mother’s middle and Aziraphale stops short in front of Crowley, looking him over closely, before stopping at his face. The redhead manages a tiny grin, without flinching too much, and Aziraphale feels his bottom lip wobble.

“You absolute fool.” He says, and Crowley unwinds his arm from his sister’s shoulder to lean forward and allow Aziraphale to hug him while making an affirmative sound. Tonya climbs up into her mother’s arms and carefully reaches out to Crowley, but hesitant to touch him. He does the rest, clasping her tiny hand in his own.

“I’m alright, kiddo.” And that is when Aziraphale pulls away from him, glaring.

“You are _far _from alright.”

“I was just trying to-“

“Nothing. You are doing nothing. Come now, best get you inside, and properly tend to your wounds. Again.” Aziraphale looks worried as he glances down at Crowley’s leg, and the redhead nudges him with his nose.

“I’ll be alright.” The blonde swallows but musters up a small smile.

“Yes, yes you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the epilogue, and I hope to have it up before New Years Eve, but I can't promise anything


	16. The End Of The Journey

Adam is bored. The great snake didn’t say he was going to be gone for literal _years._ At this point, the boy turned teenager wonders if the snake will ever return to the mountain, if he ever planned on returning at all. Perhaps he had grown bored of all of them and decided to just leave once the opportunity presented itself. He had certainly left in a hurry, and Adam is no longer waiting for the snake to return, despite what his father has said.

_“They live a lot longer than us humans, Adam. Time moves different for them than it does for us.”_ Adam never thought that would mean that the snake would be gone for years, just a few weeks, really. In the beginning, it had felt weird not finding the snake outside his cave when they went there in the mornings, then the adults started talking between each other, causing some anxiety to fall over the entire population.

_What happens if we are attacked while the snake is away?_

“Adam! Come on, we’ll be late!” Pepper calls out, hefting a wooden practice blade over her shoulder as she continues on down the path.

“Coming!” A year ago, a man named Bada had come to the village, hoping to see the monster snake of the rumours, only to be disappointed to know that the snake had left quite some time ago, though upon learning that the snake would return, he chose to stay until that day comes. And, not surprisingly considering his many scars and the weapons he carries with him, he’s a good fighter. And throughout the year since his arrival, he’s been teaching the Them how to defend themselves, how to use a blade and several other assortments of weapons.

It’s another day of hard training, Bada isn’t going easy on them anymore, and now they are all trying to get one blow on him. That’s the point of today’s session, all four of them against him, and they must land one blow on him. They are not doing well. Brian is already out, and Pepper is far too aggressive and reckless, and Wensleydale ends up tumbling backwards to avoid being hit by her training blade, and bumps into Adam, who loses his footing and falls down the slight hill.

“Pepper!” Bada snaps, grabbing her wrist, and that’s the last Adam sees before he rolls down, and down and down until he hits something. He groans as he tries to make the world stop spinning, blinking his eyes and shaking his head.

“Bloody hell, you’ve gotten big.” He freezes in place at the sound of that familiar voice and he scrambles to his feet, only to almost fall over again as he is still not completely free of the dizziness.

“Oh dear, that was quite a tumble, wasn’t it?” Another voice he remembers speaks up and he blinks his eyes again and again, squinting at the four in front of him. Two he doesn’t recognize, but two he does, and his eyes widen, before a wide grin splits across his face.

“Snake-man!” He exclaims and the two he doesn’t know looks at the redhead.

“Snake-man?” The adult asks, the young girl giggles, and Crowley rolls his eyes.

“Bloody nick-name they got for me way back when.” Crowley mutters, only to nearly jump out of his skin when Adam hugs him tightly.

“You came back!” The teenager exclaims enthusiastically, before pulling back and looking up.

“I said I would, what’s with this kind over over-excited reaction?” The shapeshifter drawls and Aziraphale chuckles.

“Just take a look at him, my dear. He’s much older than when we left, it’s been three years.”

“That’s not a lot.” Crowley rolls his eyes and Aziraphale jabs him with his elbow, replying with a chuckle that for a human, three years is a lot.

“Adam!” Wensleydale calls from the top of the hill. “Are you alright? Actually, who’s that?” Before Adam can answer, it appears like the other teenager understands who it is that stands down there as his eyes widens behind his spectacles and he turns to yell over his shoulder before he too begins the descent down the slippery slope, soon followed by two others.

“You’re back!” And Crowley is nearly bowled over by the other three barrelling into him, given more speed and power by the steep slope they just slid down from, and the shapeshifter huffs, again commenting that they have grown too big for him to carry anymore. Only when they pull back do they spare the other two shapeshifters a glance.

“Who’re _they_?” Pepper demands, and Tonya bristles a bit at the way the other girl speaks, because it sounds like the brunette could do well without seeing the two of them, and who does she think she is?

“We’re his family, who are _you?_” She spits back, ignoring her mother’s hand on her shoulder, the hand meant to calm her down. Pepper looks taken aback and looks up at Crowley, who shrugs with a tiny grin on his face and shapeshifts into the huge snake-form they are the most used to, and coils around the two other shifters.

“There wassss a reassson I left, after all.” He hisses, and Tonya does her own little shapeshifting, turning into a mountain goat, snapping after their fingers, before shifting back.

“She’s not a snake, she can’t be your family.” Pepper says, crossing her arms, and Babylon raises a brow.

“Know a lot about shapeshifters, do you, girl?” She leans against her brother, waiting for Pepper to answer, who says that it’s obvious that if they are family, they must all be the same animal. Obviously. And to a human, whose mind is set in what is the most practical and the only thing they know, that must be the most logical answer.

“Oh no, my dear girl, that is not how it works. Shapeshifters find themselves a shape they are comfortable with, and as they grow older, they stick to that shape.” Aziraphale cuts in, placating the human girl as best as he can. Suddenly Crowley tightens around the two remaining shifters of his family, and they glance at him, then up the hill where his gaze is resting. At the top of the hill, Bada stands, training sword in hand.

“Who’s that?” Babylon asks, and Crowley hisses.

“Don’t know.”

“That’s Bada.” Wensleydale pipes up. “Actually, he came looking for you a year ago.” This makes all three shapeshifters tense up, but the humans are unaware of this as they call for Bada to come join them. The man atop the hill drops the wooden sword in his hand and slowly descends the hill. When he stops to stand in front of them, there is a tense silence as the shapeshifters regards the man before them. Crowley’s tongue flicks out, smelling the air, not quite sure what it is about the man’s scent that’s caught his attention. He’s never seen him before, so that’s not it.

“My name is Bada.” The man begins and holds up a hand, not to shake, but to watch, and all three shapeshifters, and the five humans around him gapes when his hand turn half-way into a canine-like paw, then quickly reverts back to a human hand again. There’s a stunned silence before he speaks up again.

“I was hoping you could help me.” Tonya is the first to get her bearings back, tugging wildly at her mother’s arm as she points at the man.

“Mam, mam, he’s like us, but he smells human! What is this? What is he?” But Babylon is just as flabbergasted as her daughter, and Crowley is just staring, and while Aziraphale has learned a lot about shapeshifters the last three years, he doesn’t know what this phenomenon is. He’s never once seen either of the three beside him ever change just one part of them when they shift, most times they almost shift three fourths of their body, and to see them just as clueless as he is, well, it helps no one.

“What the fuck?” Finally Crowley finds his tongue again, and lurches forward to loom over Bada, yellow eyes glaring down at him.

“What are you?”

“Crowley, that’s rude-“ Aziraphale tries, but Bada speaks up again, and there’s a stunned silence yet again.

“My father was a human, and my mother is a shapeshifter.” He seems to be expecting them to just stare at him, and he doesn’t grow impatient with telling them what he wants with Crowley, or grow annoyed with the staring. He just waits.

“Well…” Babylon says. “Shit.”

“Mam!”

* * *

They listen to his story, about the short life he led with his family as a whole, how his mother had been forced to leave because of hunters prowling the area and figuring her out, and how she had never returned. Now that his father is no longer among them, Bada has set out to search for his mother, see if he can’t find her, and he had hoped to have Crowley’s help.

“How’d you figure I was a shifter?” The redhead grumbles from his perch on his old furs. He really should get new ones; these have not been properly taken care of in his absence. At least his garden isn’t as bad of as he had thought it would be. It is still not good enough, but he’ll get to it later.

“I didn’t. I just thought, considering I’ve heard more about this area than any other, I should give it a try. Maybe you weren’t a shapeshifter, but maybe you had some information you’d be willing to share.” Crowley nods. A logical train of thought. And so far, it doesn’t seem like Bada is posing as a threat to any of the shapeshifters present, and the Them had spoken so warmly of him too, until Crowley had sent them running back to the village. And nothing changes the fact that he can change some parts of him, but not hold them for very long. His shifting is like that of a new born, and Crowley sighs. This isn’t going to cut it.

“Babylon. Your turn.”

“What?” The blonde raises a brow.

“I’ll help you, there is a place where a lot of us are gathered, and maybe they know a bit, or has a connection to your mother, but for us to actually give you that location, you need to do better than just shifting one and one part of yourself. You’ve got to at least be able to do a half-shift for it to be safe for you to go in there. And that’s where Babylon comes in.” The look in the blonde shapeshifter’s eye tells everyone present exactly _what _she thinks of Crowley’s words here, but she doesn’t say anything against him.

“I’ll be happy for any guidance I can get.” Bada says, bowing his head. Aziraphale watches how Babylon glares at Crowley the moment the half-human has bowed his head, and there seems to be a silent conversation going on between the two of them before she sighs and nods.

“Alright. It’s not like you possess the ability to teach a youngling anyway.” This time Crowley glares as Babylon gets up, tapping the bowing man’s knee with her foot.

“I’m not a patient teacher.” The smirk on her face when Bada looks up can only be described as demonic, and even Aziraphale feels a shiver travel up and down his spine.

“You better listen to me well, half-man, or you won’t get anything out of it.” But there’s a determination in the half-human’s eyes that makes Crowley grin. Babylon might not be a patient teacher, but the half-human doesn’t seem to be an overly worried man either. Babylon might just have some fun here, Crowley thinks, and as Babylon motions for Bada to follow, and Tonya, ever curious, follows them to watch, Crowley finds himself content with turning fully into a snake and coiling around his human lover, leeching on his warmth.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to have Babylon teach him? Can he even be taught?” The healer asks anxiously as he pets Crowley’s head when the snake bumps his snout into the man’s hands.

“It’ll be fine.” The shapeshifter says nonchalantly, but Aziraphale is not so sure. “Don’t worry so much. Babylon has actual experience teaching younglings how to learn how to shapeshift. I’ve never had anyone to teach, so she’s the better option. She’s taught five already. Just look at Tonya, barely eleven, and already she’s started to favour and be confident in one shape.”

“Hm, that is true. As a mountain goat, and her mother a hawk they’ll be content here in the mountains. It suits them more than it does you. Isn’t it cold up here for you?” The snake wrapped around him makes a non-committal noise, tightening its grip on him.

“Assss long asss I had my fursss, I wassss fine.”

“Your furs are in dire need of being changed, my dear.”

“No need, got you now.” The healer flushes an adorable pink, wiggling in his seat.

“You absolute wily serpent, you!” If snakes can laugh, Aziraphale imagines the sound leaving Crowley right then is that very sound.

* * *

Bada turns out to be a surprisingly devout student, and even though that is what Babylon asked for, it still irks her. The biggest surprise is when Bada seems more comfortable with light animal forms, instead of the heavy paw he had showed them the first day.

“Still sure this was a good idea?” Aziraphale asks as he watches Babylon grit her teeth in an attempt at not showing how displeased she is with the entire situation.

“Just because she got used to me, it doesn’t mean she likes others, even if they are half-shapeshifter.”

“Meh, she’s just playing.” Crowley says from where he hovering menacingly over a terribly shaking row of herbs. “She wouldn’t have come here at all with Tonya if she didn’t feel a little bit better about being around humans.” He hisses and the herbs shake even more and Aziraphale sighs. Poor greenery. But even as the days pass and Babylon grumbles and complains, she never tells her daughter to stay away from the half-human, half-shapeshifter, and sometimes, Aziraphale notices, their lessons end rather early.

And then, when the shapeshifters present deem him able enough to pass as one proper shapeshifter, and Bada bids to take his leave (after thanking them profusely) Babylon says she’ll go with him. Crowley blinks, Aziraphale smiles and Tonya nearly jumps at her mother.

“You what?”

“We’re both flying types, not that he’ll last long for each day.” At this, Bada rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “But it makes the most sense for me to tag along. He’ll never get in on his own, he needs someone to go good for him, and if I go, the return will take less time than if you go, Anthony.”

“Well, can’t argue with you there.” Crowley says, and leans back against the cave wall. The redhead doesn’t want to travel anymore for quite some time anyways, he’s quite content with staying here. “Don’t take too long, you hear?” Babylon snorts, but tells Bada to get his things ready for travel. The man nods and leaves the cave.

“Mam! We just got here, you can’t just leave again!” Tonya pouts, but Babylon just ruffles the girl’s hair placatingly.

“You’re eleven already, big enough to stay here with Anthony and Aziraphale for a few months on your own. I’ll be back soon enough.”

“You better be.” Tonya’s pout widens, but she accepts that she can argue all she wants, but her mother is right. For a tiny little moment she wishes she too is more of a flying type of shapeshifter, but her mother brightens her mood again.

“While I’m gone, you can cause some trouble, since I am not here to stop you. Show them humans how one does real fighting. Butt some heads.”

“Oi…” Crowley says, not at all liking where this is going, but Aziraphale elbows him in the side to stop him from complaining and causing a slight argument.

And so Babylon leaves the next day, and she stays gone for quite some time. Tonya fits in well with the Them, and plays around with them. The group seems happy to have her around, though she often butts heads with Pepper. Sometimes she literally butts head into Pepper. In her animal form. But Pepper is tough, and she takes it in stride, though there is a sliver of rivalry which doesn’t seem to have any intention of disappearing just yet. At the very least, despite this rivalry, it is clear that the Them are all very impressed with the way Tonya can so easily climb the mountain walls in her animal form, and that gets her a lot of praise, praise the little girl basks in.

And then Babylon returns, some months later, with news that indeed, Bada’s mother has been in the sanctuary for quite some time now, and that there was no more need for Bada to search. Crowley can’t quite believe it when Babylon tells him who it is Bada has searched for, but in the end, all of them are just happy that this story got a happy ending. No one is more surprised than Babylon when Bada returns to the mountain some years later, more of a proper shapeshifter now.

“Already back?” Crowley drawls, acting like he’s at the pinnacle of relaxation, despite being pinned to the ground by wild teenagers intent on _‘slaying the evil serpent_’.

“This is where I belong.” Bada answers, looking at Babylon with a small smile.

While Crowley and Tonya wonders what happened when the two travelled, Aziraphale grins knowingly into the sleeve of his robe. He too, after having wandered aimlessly and alone for many, many years, now knows where he belongs.

And who he belongs with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Tracy

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Broken and the Beacon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502901) by [Feekins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feekins/pseuds/Feekins)


End file.
